


White Collar: An unofficial novel - part 6

by AltanKatt



Series: White Collar Unofficial Novel [6]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Anklet, Cuffs, Episode Related, Episode: s02e01 Withdrawal, Episode: s02e02 Need to Know, Episode: s02e03 Copycat Caffrey, Explosions, FBI, Forgery, Friendship, Gen, Inspired by White Collar, Neal Caffrey's Tracking Anklet, Prison, Stealing, Trust, White Collar Crime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:14:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 53,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24021169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AltanKatt/pseuds/AltanKatt
Summary: This is the tv show White Collar as a novel. It is written from the point of view of Neal Caffrey and Peter Burke. The dialog follows the episodes, but there are also new scenes filling the gaps in the story. I wanted to capture the spirit of White Collar and the friendship between Peter and Neal. Part 6 starts with the aftermath of the plane explosion and then Season 2 "Withdrawl" to "CopyCat Caffrey."
Relationships: Elizabeth Burke & Neal Caffrey, Elizabeth Burke/Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey & Mozzie, Peter Burke & Neal Caffrey
Series: White Collar Unofficial Novel [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1326365
Comments: 10
Kudos: 39





	1. Aftermath

Peter's focus was to get Neal inside the hangar, away from the blazing fire.

"Neal! There's nothing you can do! Listen to me!"

He never thought he would have to fight Neal. The kid had never, ever made resistance. Until now. As flames went from explosion to burning fuel and material they also became less chaotic and more real. Diana had joined them and she got the picture fast enough.

Sirens were heard and Peter managed at last to guide a stunned and chocked Neal back inside the hangar. Firetrucks arrived in plenty, together with an ambulance. Diana took charge as the communication center. A police car came last.

"Can you just stand still and stay here?" Peter asked Neal. "Just stand still, okay?"

Neal stared at the burning plane, leaning against one of the airplanes in the hangar.

"You know when the last time I touched her was?" the kid asked, tears running down his cheeks.

"No." It was not true. He did. Or at least he thought so. But he did not want to think about it.

"When you arrested me. Four years and six months ago. I just wanted to pick it up where we left off then. Like those years never happened."

Peter noted that Neal did not blame him. There was no hate or bitterness in his voice. Just sorrow. Like when he told about the wine bottle, just a hundred times worse.

"Just stand there, will you? I'll be here. I just need to call Hughes, okay?"

Neal nodded. Peter got eye-contact with Diana and she nodded. She would keep an eye on the kid. Peter walked away a bit. He called his boss and told him what happened.

"Is Caffrey unharmed?" Hughes asked.

"Physically, yes."

"And he's without anklet because he cut it?"

Peter sighed.

"Yes."

"You know what that means, Peter," he heard Hughes' voice of reason in the other end.

It made sense. And yet not. Because he knew Neal and knew about the deal with Fowler.

"Hughes, he wasn't running. It was legal."

"Perhaps. And he may not have anything to do with the bomb on that plane either. But until we know…"

"We have to see him as a fleeing felon and a murder suspect," Peter filled in. He glanced back at Neal. "As soon as he's ready for it, I'll take him back to prison."

"I'm sorry, Peter, but you're still under suspension, and Caffrey is an inmate of a maximum-security prison. I'll call the marshals. Let them handle it. They're no animals."

"Reese…" Peter began, "I…" He was about to tell he gave the kid a promise. But it would not help. He searched for words for a protest he knew would be in vain. He would not even need to put ordinary handcuffs on Neal. No one would need more than that as long as they treated him fair. Diana? No, for her Neal was just another villain. And she would never agree to transport him in just cuffs, and Peter could not blame her.

"I'll keep an eye on him until they arrive." He ended the call.

He watched Neal where he stood, like a wreck. Peter felt helpless. The kid was going through the worst moment of his life right then, and would soon be taken away in chains as if he was the cause of the disaster.

He returned to Neal's side, wondering how he would be able to tell him.

The kid watched him.

"What aren't you telling me, Peter?" Observant as always.

"I wish this could be done differently," Peter started. "I made you a promise. But as it is, I don't have a badge."

"I'm going back to prison, aren't I?"

"While all this is investigated, yes. I'm sorry, Neal."

The kid nodded in acceptance.

Peter's eyes wandered away.

"Neal... " He forced himself to meet the kid's eyes. "You're considered a high-risk transport."

"Leg-irons and black-box, I know the drill, Peter."

Neal's assurance sent a shiver through Peter. He had always seen them as something needed in extreme cases for violent people. Neal had faced them as standard procedure in prison without being violent. When he had arrested Neal for that necklace he did not steal, Fowler had called the marshals for the transport. Then he had seen it as a provocative gesture from Fowler, but it was standard procedure.

"You can stay here as long as you need to. There's no one who wishes to drag you away in chains until you're capable of handling it."

"Could you put them on me?" Neal asked. Peter stared. "Please?"

What was it with this guy?

"Why?"

"I'll be having them on for quite a while before I'm back in prison. Believe it or not, but those things aren't very comfortable in the first place. I know you wouldn't pull them tighter than needed."

Peter sighed. Putting him in restraints of that kind was nothing he wanted to do at any time but Neal would be far more uncomfortable than him, no matter who put them on. And it was as close as keeping his promise as he could.

"Alright, I'll talk to them, see what I can do. But it's not my call."

Neal nodded.

They both saw the marshals coming. Four men, one holding the chains. They pinpointed Neal quickly enough and approached. Diana sent him an eye as if to ask what to do. He shook his head.

"I'll talk to them," Peter said. "And tell them to wait until your ready."

"I'm ready." Neal looked far from ready.

"Are you sure?"

"A distraction would suit me fine right now. This will at least be familiar grounds. Yes, Peter, I'm ready." He even sent Peter an assuring smile. "Go ahead."

Peter walked to meet them.

"Agent Burke, FBI," he introduced himself. He still was, even if he was suspended.

"U.S. Marshal Sam North," their leader said. They shook hands. "Does he know?" He nodded in Neal's direction.

"Yes. He'll follow with you without any fuss, but he has one request."

"Which is?" asked North.

"That I pat him down and put those restraints on."

The man's eyebrows went up in surprise.

"I've no problem with that, but you're a civilian at the moment, Agent Burke. I'll have to supervise it."

Peter nodded. He was not going to argue against it.

The marshal followed him back to Neal with a handful of chains in his hand. Neal stood as a composed wreck, leaning against the airplane, exposed and harmless.

"Neal Caffrey, I'm U.S. Marshal Sam North. I'm going to supervise your transport back to Sing Sing. Agent Burke here tells me you want him to restrain you. Is that correct?"

Neal nodded. The marshal explained to Neal why he had to supervise it. Neal nodded again.

"Well then, Mr. Caffrey, I think you know the drill."

The marshal said it gently and gave a safe impression. Yet, Peter saw Neal's shoulders tense as he stepped away from the plane with a blank face. He took off his shoulder-bag and his jacket and held out his arms. The Marshal gave Peter a nod that the kid was all his.

Peter started with Neal's hair, dusty from the explosion. The collar, the sleeves. Since he had no jacket, there were few places to hide anything. Peter did not expect to find anything, but he did it correctly. Neal did not expect him to do anything less.

The marshal handed him the restrains.

Neal continued to hold his arms out until Peter had locked the belly-chain around his waist. The cuffs around the ankles were not uncomfortable in themselves at least. It was the chain that restricted the length of the step that constituted the restraint. Peter rose to lock the final cuffs around his friend's wrists. He knew he was supposed to do this before the legs, but no matter how correct he was with this, it would be unpleasant for Neal.

Neal already stood with his hands in position.

"Want to put your jacket on?" Peter asked. Neal shook his head.

The cuffs were directly linked to the belly-chain which forced the hands and arms in a fixed position which in the long run could become painful. The black box on top of that removed every option to move the hands. Neal did not flinch once. Not even when Peter put that box on top of it all.

Peter remembered when he had cuffed Neal in the interview room for the transport to the detonation center four and a half years ago. Neal had tried not to flinch when the cuffs closed around his wrists. Peter had cuffed him front with ordinary cuffs. More of a psychological restraint. What he put on Neal now was the opposite, and his CI had not moved a muscle in his face. Prison-time had made its mark, and Peter was not sure if that system created better citizens. It felt healthier to flinch than be used to leg-irons and black boxes.

Neal was restrained, and there was nothing more for Peter to do.

"See you, Peter?"

A question? Did he have to ask?

"Any time, kiddo" he assured Neal. "And I'll do my best to get you out as soon as I can, alright."

Neal nodded.

"Ready to go?" the marshal asked. Peter watched Neal's face transform into one of smiles and playfulness. An imitation of his normal state. Neal turned to face the marshal.

"Can't wait" he replied with a grin.

Peter picked up Neal's jacket and searched its pockets. He hung it over his friend's shoulders. It was December and cold outside. Then he stepped aside, and the marshal took over. With a grip around Neal's upper arm, he led him out of the hangar in the pace the chains allowed, followed by the other three.

Neal knew Peter would have kept his promise if he could. He did not blame him for being transported back to prison in chains. It was not something he enjoyed and Peter's promise not to use those methods had been a greater comfort than his handler probably understood. Even if it was included in the FBI training to try leg-irons and belly-chains, it was not the same thing as being treated as a violent criminal.

Right now he had never felt less eager to escape. He felt deflated. It was if someone pulled the carpet under his feet and there was nothing under it.

They reached the marshal's van. He was guided to the middle row of seats, but each time he lifted his foot to get inside he swayed and he was afraid to lose balance and fall.

"Don't worry, we'll hold you," U.S. Marshal Sam North said beside him and another of them took hold of his other arm. When he lifted his foot again he felt their steady hands helping him and he got inside. He sat down by the window on the door-less side and North fastened his seatbelt and took a seat beside him. One sat down on the seat behind him and the other two in the front.

Four men and a set of chains to bring him back.

And Kate was gone.

He fought the feeling of unreality and focused on the chains, his cuffed and fixed hands, the sound when he moved. He leaned his head against the window, sensed its coolness. He did not want to break down and cry. Not now. Not when he could not even dry his tears. He did not want to arrive back to prison like that.

What had gone wrong? It was as if he was punished for doubting and swaying from his goal, as some said God smote you with lightning when you sinned. But he was not superstitious. Someone had killed Kate with a bomb. A bomb that might have been intended for him as well. Kate! Had he caused her death? Should he just stop searching as both Peter and Mozzie suggested, more than once?

He straightened up in his seat and pushed the thoughts away.

"Are you okay?" Marshal North asked beside him.

Neal glanced in his direction. What should he answer to that? He did not want to sound like a cocky smart-ass.

"I'll live," he said.

"Why did you want that Agent to put those on?" the marshal asked and pointed at the chains.

"He's a friend."

"A hell of a thing to put a friend through."

"I guess," Neal sighed. "But he'll live too. He's caught me twice. And cuffed me ever more times."

"And you said you're friends?"

"Yeah." Neal found that life was easier to handle when he was thinking of Peter and his six months with the FBI. "What to hear the story?"

And so he found himself entertain the four marshals with the story of how they first met in the bank, how Peter set a trap that he walked right into - leaving Kate out of the story - and the escape that led to him working for the FBI.

Late at night, when he has back in prison and locked up in a cell, he cried.

Peter walked around in Neal's empty apartment without an actual aim. He just wanted to understand, to make things make sense. Neal had been about to leave, and all he brought was one bag with nothing more than a passport, some cash, and a minimal amount of clothes.

Was that the way he had been living before he got arrested? A life with no ties, always ready to leave. In Peter's world that was not a healthy life. A good life was a settled one. It did not seem as that was what Neal wanted. Or did he want it on his own terms? Had Peter pushed him into a situation where he felt he needed to escape?

Now Neal was in prison, and Kate was dead. Nothing had turned out as any of them hoped.

June stood in the open doorway.

"I thought I heard someone moving upstairs. I hoped it was Neal…"

"I'm sorry." Peter forced to keep his face from reddening. "I just…" He did not find the words to describe what he was doing there.

"You're Neal's handler" June replied with a crisp edge. "You have the right to search his home."

"That's not why I came. I just wanted to understand what was going on in his head. June, Neal is back in prison."

June's stoic pose sank. She pulled out a chair and sat down.

"Oh, Neal. What did he do?"

"Nothing, as far as I know," Peter admitted, feeling guilty, being a part of the system that forced Neal back in chains.

"Then you didn't put him there?"

"It was not my call." He sighed. "Neal was about to leave with Kate after a deal with... It was all legal. Then the plane exploded on the ground, with Kate inside. Neal was there. And no one understands what happened."

"Neal would never kill Kate," June protested.

"No. He wouldn't."

"And you said it was legal for him to leave?"

"Yes. I did some research to check what he was doing. It was all legal." 'Was' Peter thought. He had seen it. Neal had had an official release from his sentence and had been a free man. Bought with a bribe consisting of a music box, but that was beside the point.

"Then why is he in prison? Because of the explosion?"

"That's one reason. The other is that his deal has vanished. For everyone else, it looks like Neal was about to escape. And that alone is a valid reason to put him back."

Peter had the Mentor-files but the actual deal was probably in the encrypted file.

"Can you get him out again?"

"I don't know," Peter admitted. "I still haven't got my badge back. I probably will get it back, but…"

"You're not sure if you want Neal back out?"

"No, I do. I do. He is a valuable asset. And a friend. I just… I can't figure out if I'm doing him a favor or not. June, he left all this. For a dream. For a woman he didn't actually know. A woman that hid from him." Peter had never liked Kate. She had never made the impression to care for anyone but herself. "Before I arrested him the first time, he left for Europe without Kate. We kept eyes on her with the hope to catch Neal. When he got back, he didn't come near her. Do you know why? Because she was hiding from him. And not once have I heard him question why she did that. Because Neal sees what he wants to see."

"Or he sees the good in people" June pointed out. Peter nodded. Perhaps. Or Neal was just plain naïve when it came to women and Kate in particular. "But why do you think Neal would do better in prison?" June persisted. Peter sighed, searching for words.

"I wonder how much my behavior caused him to feel he had to leave. When he has served his time, he is free. Free from me. Free to make his own choices. If he's in prison, I can't…" Peter did not want to see Neal in prison, but this was not about what he wanted but what would be best for Neal. And he wanted June to understand that. "He once expressively said he didn't want the life I offered. Maybe I made him feel trapped, instead of helped."

And a trapped Neal is a Neal that runs. And a Neal that escapes his sentence ends up in prison for good. That was the last thing Peter wanted.

He had been walking back and forth. Now he pulled out a chair and sat down, facing June.

"Since he started working for me, I've cuffed him twice without him being guilty of anything. He's a con-man. And to con a con-man so he becomes a prime suspect… He gets the blame for things he didn't do. And he gets the blame just because he works for the FBI, for me. We keep him under a close watch which seems to make it twice as fun to frame him. He's Neal Caffrey, the greatest con-man ever lived. A challenge for the whole con-man-world out there. And I put him in a position where he cannot defend himself."

"But you proved him innocent the first time" June pointed out. "And I'm sure you can prove him innocent this time too. And that I think is most important; to prove he is innocent when he is. To fight for him. To show him that you're there for him, that you have faith in him."

Peter nodded. It would not be the last time Neal ended up as a suspect. And Neal could use the situation to commit his own crimes and claim he was framed. Peter could not trust him not to. How many times would he hurt the kid by not trusting him when Neal in return trusted him completely? But he did trust Neal, in a peculiar way. Not as unconditional as Neal probably trusted him, but he did trust him with his life and the work he was doing for the FBI. And he had faith in the kid.

"Your husband…" he began, looking at June. "Did he ever… stop?"

"And became an honest citizen?" June clarified the question. Peter nodded. "Yes, he did. For most the part at least."

"What made him quit?"

"Something you cannot control." June smiled. "Kids. A desire to be with them when they grew up and not meet them in an orange jumpsuit on the other side of a glass wall."

Through Peter's mind rushed images of single women he could introduce in Neal's life. He dismissed the idea at once. The kid had to figure things out himself, make his own choices. All Peter could do was to show him what life could be like, give him reasons to stay, and show that he had faith in Neal and would be there for him.


	2. Back in prison

Elizabeth was quick to see that things were not as it should.

"What is it? What's going on? Did Neal run?"

Peter sank down on the couch, dropping his coat beside him. He felt deadly tired.

"El, Neal is back in prison."

"So he ran?"

"No. He was going to leave with Kate. It was all legal. I caught up with him before he got to the plane where Kate was waiting for him. Then the plane exploded."

"Then… Kate…"

"Yeah," Peter nodded. "Kate is dead."

"Oh God, Neal must be devastated! And you put him back in prison!?"

"No hon, I didn't. It wasn't my call," Peter defended himself. "But he is a convicted felon serving time. While this is investigated, it's the most agreeable thing to do."

"I have to see him! They have visiting hours have they not?"

"They do." He smiled at Elizabeth. She had a good heard and it was a good thing she showed Neal that she cared.

There was a rapid hard knock on the door. They exchanged a look. They did not expect someone. El went to open.

"Hello, Mrs. Suit. You've got Mr. Suit here, I suppose."

And then an upset Mozzie marched inside.

"Is it true that Kate is dead and you put Neal back in prison for it?"

"Kate is dead," Peter confirmed. "And Neal is in prison, for now. And it wasn't my call." Peter wondered if it was a good sign that he felt he needed to defend himself, to tell it wasn't his decisions.

"Neal would never kill Kate, Suit, you know that."

"I know that."

He rose for no other cause than that he felt small compared to Mozzie when he sat in the low sofa.

"So Neal's documents were forged after all? They weren't legal? And I confirmed to him they were legit!"

"Relax, Mozzie. They were legal."

"So why is Neal back in prison?"

"Because a plane exploded, killing Kate and the pilots—"

"Neal didn't do that!" Mozzie yelled.

"—and Neal is a convicted felon serving time!" Peter fought to keep his temper where it belonged. "Since he is a prison inmate, it is where he goes when he gets involved in a possible crime, while it is investigated. Like it or not, but that's the way it is."

He glared at Mozzie, waiting for the next argument. It didn't come.

Mozzie nodded.

"Alright. We live in a totalitarian state without legal rights, obviously, but you will get him out again?"

"If I can, yes."

" _If you can?_ "

"Mozzie," Peter sighed. "The deal he had, it vanished. There is hardly any proof it even existed. It may look like he tried to run."

"And then he'll be back for good," Mozzie whispered.

Peter nodded.

Neal sat on the floor of his cell. He was placed in isolation for his own protection. He had got a pile of books and a proper bed at least. Was this what prison life would be like from now on?

The door was unlocked and Bobby stood in the doorway.

“How’re you holding up, son?”

Neal considered.

“Don’t know.” 

“Come. You’ve got a visitor.”

To his surprise, he was led to the area for public visitors, not the entrusted ones, where he had met Peter. He had not been there since he saw Kate at her last visit. A pang of sorrow hit him. Bobby’s steady hand on his shoulder helped him to keep focus. For a second he thought it was Kate sitting on the other side of the glass. He frowned and blinked. It was not Kate, but Elizabeth.

He smiled and sat down. Bobby left them alone.

Elizabeth already held the phone in her hand. Neal grabbed his.

“I’m so sorry, Neal!”

She placed her hand on the glass. He just nodded and placed his palm matching hers on the glass.

“Thank you for coming.”

“How could I not? Neal, you’re family, you know that.”

He was a con-man, a felon. And she was the wife of the man who chased him. Still, she had let him into hers and Peter’s life.

“Did Carl call you?”

“He did,” Elizabeth nodded. “He’s a nice guy. Thank you so much, Neal. The Channing Museum’s Master Retrospective was beyond my dreams to ever get. You saved my business, Neal.”

Neal smiled. It was good to hear that he had done something right at least.

“Neal…” 

“Yeah?”

“Were you about to leave, just like that, and never get in touch again?”

Neal saw that she was hurt. But he could not lie to her.

“Yes.”

“The same with Mozzie?”

“Yes.”

“But how could you? We care for you. Mozzie care for you. You just don’t leave people like that!” She looked at him as if she expected him to say something. But he had nothing to say. “What makes you think that’s okay? Leaving someone like that. Don’t ever do that again!”

Neal could not bare her upset sad eyes and he looked down on the table.

“I can’t promise you that, Elizabeth.”

She nodded.

“No false promises at least,” she said and added a smile. “I left a box for you with some stuff. I hope you’ll get it without problems. Peter and Mozzie helped pick things that would be allowed.”

“Thanks. How’s Peter?”

“He’s fine. He’ll come by. Maybe he needs to discuss some… If they can’t find any relatives… to Kate…”

“It’s okay,” Neal nodded.

“They treat you well here?”

“Don’t worry. I’ve spent four years in here, remember?” Not in an isolation cell though, but it was no use telling her that.

He had not been back in his cell for long before it was time for his hour outside. It was a box of concrete, covered with bars and barbed wires but it was outdoors. To see the sky helped. But not all the way. He missed people! He was no Peter Burke. He needed human interaction to function. Especially now when he did not want to be alone with his thoughts.

When he was about to return inside Bobby picked him up again.

“Your lawyer is here,” he said. “Busy day, eh?”

Mozzie waited for him.

“I cannot say how sorry I am,” his friend said. Neal acknowledged with a nod. “How’re you holding up?”

“Isolation. For my own protection.”

Neal could see that Mozzie understood the problem.

“Want me to do anything?” he asked.

“As my lawyer, it’s not much you can do,” Neal answered, “unless they charge me for the bomb. If they think I was about to escape they decide my fate without a trial.”

“Once found guilty your rights as a citizen in a democratic society cease to exits.” 

“As I said, there is not much you can do for me as your lawyer,” Neal repeated. This time Moz got the hint.

“But as a friend…?”

“Moz, if Peter doesn’t get me out... I can’t live my life in an isolation cell. Even if it just be for three and a half years.”

He gave nod as an answer.

“It may take some time.”

“Time I’ve got,” Neal replied. “And don’t do anything before I know Peter can’t get our deal back.”

“I understand. The Suit is actually quite okay. For being a Suit. And being free legally is better than being on the run.”

“ _If_ I’ll be free,” Neal mumbled.

“Any indications that you won’t be when your sentence is over?”

“I’m back here now, may face lifetime, for something I didn’t do. Even if I’m cleared and Peter gets me out, it could just as much happen again. This time Peter and Elizabeth will probably steer clear of the problems I caused them, but what if they don’t next time?”

“So you’re thinking of…” Mozzie halted to find another phrasing that ‘escape’, “…another route in your life… as a precaution?”

“Maybe.”

“May I join you, this time?”

Neal watched Mozzie.

“I hurt you, didn’t I?”

Mozzie looked away.

“I knew you probably get in touch after a time.”

Neal nodded. He probably would have. He had never thought that far. He had never had any roots and had not known how deep he had grown them until he was about to leave.

“Mozzie, if I ever run again, you’re always free to join, alright?”

His friend grinned.

“You think you can get Neal out to Christmas?” El asked.

“We should be happy if we can get him back out at all,” Peter replied with a deep sigh.

“Is it that bad?”

“Yeah. It’s that bad. And I was his handler when… it all happened. And now I’m fighting to get him back out. I can’t push it if I want my badge back. And without my badge, I can’t get him out.”

It was such a mess. Peter had asked himself more than once if he had done anything out of order. Anything that could be blamed for. He had given the kid some slack on occasion, yes, but it was when Neal had done a good job. It was just the fact that he had taken on a criminal and a con man like Neal in the first place that raised questions.

“Poor Neal,” El said. “I was hoping to invite him for Christmas.”

That was a thought that had not crossed Peter’s mind. But it was no use debating if his pet convict was a suitable guest for the occasion or not at this time.

“Well, he’s just lost Kate, hon. I think he has other things on his mind. And he has spent Christmas in prison for four years.”

They both visited Neal once a week on different days. Still on suspension — now on the grounds of his connection with Neal — Peter was not allowed to see the kid in the restricted visitor’s room. He had to do with a booth with glass between them. Peter had little idea how to comfort someone in grief and even less when all he had was one hour a week. He was pleased to hear Neal tell him that he had accepted the Warden’s offer to see a priest. Then he had some human interaction at least. Peter knew Neal was in an isolation cell. He had not told Elizabeth though. She was worried enough as it was and Peter knew it was the only way to keep the kid safe. Neal had aided to put far too many of the inmates in there. If he could not get the kid out, he would work for getting the kid transferred to another prison, further away from New York City. 

Christmas came and went and so did New Year's Eve. January started with yet another hearing about what happened. For yet another board of people. This time it was three of them, two men and a woman. And someone sitting diagonally behind him, taking notes. He was asked by the man in the middle to tell them what happened that day and he did.

“Caffrey walked towards the plane and you did nothing to stop him?” the man asked.

“No. I had seen the deal. I knew it was legit.”

“What happened next?”

“The jet exploded.”

“Neal Caffrey is a felon,” the man in front of him said as if Peter had to be informed. “Will you explain the deal you had with him?”

“He was serving the remainder of a four-year sentence under my supervision.”

“He was wearing an electronic monitoring anklet with…” he was handed a paper from the woman on his left, “a two-mile range?”

“Yes.” It was of no use to discuss or defend why the radius was so big without being asked.

“But he wasn't wearing it at the time that the plane exploded.”

“No.”

The man covered the microphone and whispered to the man to his right.

Peter glanced at the man taking notes. They probably recorded it all, why take notes? A written text left so much out.

“Do you believe that Mr. Caffrey was attempting to flee the country?” the man asked and rose from his chair.

“No. He cut a deal with the office of professional responsibility. That allowed h—” 

The man raised his hand and Peter fell silent.

“Do you believe Mr. Caffrey wanted to kill Kate Moreau?”

“That's ridiculous. No.”

“Do you believe someone wanted Caffrey dead?”

“Neal was a felon. He was convicted of bond forgery, and as you can see in those files, he was suspected of doing a hell of a lot of other things. Yeah, Neal was a pain in the ass. So did somebody from that past want him dead? Maybe. But he also helped me clear a 93% conviction rate, and that makes enemies, too. But I don't think any of this explains why the jet exploded. You want an answer to that, ask Garrett Fowler.”

“Fowler... The OPR agent you shot?”

“He was wearing a vest,” Peter said. “Talk to him.”

“Right now, we're talking to you,” the man snapped back. Peter sighed. “Why don't we go back over the timeline again?”

Everybody at his unit knew Neal was an asset and he dared say that he was a good FBI agent. Why could they not just give him his badge back and get the kid back to the office? Because of the system he trusted and believed in. He braised himself.

“Where do you want to start?”

“When Mr. Caffrey escaped from prison maybe?”


	3. Negotiable

Peter met Diana in the FBI lobby at Washington D.C.

"Well?" she asked.

He showed her his badge.

"I'm off suspension but hanging by a thread," he told her. "What have you got?"

"Fowler was handed over to OPR two days ago, then not a trace."

"They're hiding him somewhere," Peter sighed. They had found him only to see him disappear again. "Did you get anything off his hard drive?"

"Good news and bad news," Diana began. "I hacked it, but the data self-corrupted."

"Ah, a self-eating virus. What's the good news?"

"Well, I was able to recover one entry. A date, a time, and a place."

"So you think Fowler set up a meeting?"

"He's expecting something to happen at 12th and watershed two months from now."

"Two months. I should be there."

"I'll put it on your calendar," Diana grinned.

"Glad to have you back," Peter smiled in return.

He walked towards the exit.

"Hey, where are you going?"

"To see an old friend."

He drove to Sing-sing prison and could now show his badge and be let inside the restricted visitor's room. It felt good. But what good news could he bring the kid? Nothing.

He watched the view through the bars and turned when he heard voices. Neal stepped inside, the guard performed a pat-down on him and then left them alone. Neal sent him a grin as he sat down. That was progress. Or false hopes of release.

"How you holding up?" Peter asked.

"They don't let me wear ties."

Peter relaxed. The Neal he knew was coming back.

"Overrated."

"Food's as bad as I remember," Neal said with a sigh.

"Coffee?" Peter asked.

"Instant."

"Cruel and unusual," Peter agreed to Neal's face of disgust.

There was a pause but he had no time to find the words to tell Neal the bad news.

"New suit?" the kid asked. Peter smiled at the fact that Neal kept track of his clothing.

"Yeah."

"They give you your badge back?" his pet convict asked while he sat down opposite.

"Yeah. Justice finished its inquiry."

"Then why am I still here?" Neal asked. That was the bad news. Peter glanced at the kid. Did he not get why? "They think I blew up the plane?"

"They don't know what to think." There were no proofs of anything but that Neal had been there without an anklet.

"What do they suspect?"

"You were trying to escape," Peter said and Neal replied with an ironic laugh.

"Escape?"

"Fowler disappeared. OPR is denying Mentor existed."

"I got paperwork that proves it did," Neal said. Of course, the kid had kept all the documents. He had told them that. That he had seen it himself.

"Yeah, and I've been reminded that you're one of the best forgers on the planet," Peter pointed out. Whatever documents Neal had, no one would believe they were valid, because no one believes a liar even when he speaks the truth. "Listen," Peter continued, "There's a chance I can reinstate our deal." He had fought hard to get as far but there was still a long road left.

"Put the anklet back on?"

Of course, anything else was out of the question.

"They've got a new one," Peter told the kid. "Not supposed to chafe as much."

"Wow. That sounds like a really great deal," Neal said with surprising irony. "From one prison to another."

"Overstating that a little?" he asked gently. "I'll let you wear ties."

"Coffee?"

"Negotiable." It was a joke, but he could not sit here and beg Neal to return to White Collar. "One thing... If we do this again..."

"I have to know who killed Kate," Neal said and pinpointed one of the arguments Peter had got to not put the kid on an anklet again. They were afraid that he would go for Kate's killer. Peter had known he would try to find Kate before, now others saw a possible revenge spree under FBI supervision. Frankly, Peter saw that risk too.

"I'll find out," he assured Neal. "I'll tell you. That's how it works."

Neal sat quietly for a moment.

"Can I get back to you?"

Peter stared. He did not believe what he just heard.

"You're looking at three and change," he reminded the kid. "Your only choice is to serve out your time with me or rot in this place."

A hint of a smile lurked in the corner of Neal's mouth and Peter knew instantly that there was another option in the young con-man's mind.

"I'm gonna have to interrupt this meeting, gentlemen," Mozzie's voice broke in as he walked up to them. Peter stared at him. "The defendant has requested the presence of his attorney."

Peter glanced at Neal who gave a little shrug of apology. Neal was definitely thinking of escaping. Stupid kid! Peter rose to his feet.

"Talk some sense into him," he earnestly asked Mozzie.

"We'll take that under advisement... Suit."

Peter left and was not sure what mood he was in. He could not deny that he enjoyed chasing Neal Caffrey, but it was more at stake now. If Neal ran they would never ever work together again and that thought made Peter sad. Though Neal was a pain in the ass in some ways he was such a caring, good person as well. And he did what he could to not harm other people. He was smart too, and Peter liked smart.

"How you holding up?" the man that chased him and arrested him twice asked as Neal sat down.

"They don't let me wear ties."

"Overrated."

"Food's as bad as I remember," Neal said. He missed much, but be able to choose what to eat and be able to cook it yourself was one of those things that hurt most.

"Coffee?" Peter asked.

"Instant." It was not even worth drinking.

"Cruel and unusual," Peter nodded.

There was a reason they met here and not in the ordinary visitor's room where they met the past weeks, due to his suspension.

"New suit," he noted.

"Yeah…"

He sat down opposite Neal. Peter obviously had hard to find the words again. Neal knew Peter was not a friend of bad news.

"They give you your badge back?" Neal asked to get to the core of the problem.

"Yeah. Justice finished its inquiry."

"Then why am I still here?" Neal saw Peter's face, as the man raised his eyebrows, knowingly. "They think I blew up the plane?"

"They don't know what to think," the agent sighed.

"What do they suspect?"

"You were trying to escape."

"'Escape'" he repeated. It was so ironic. He was further away from escaping then, than any other time before in his life.

"Fowler disappeared," Peter continued. "OPR is denying Mentor existed."

"I got paperwork that proves it did," Neal pointed out.

"Yeah, and I've been reminded that you're one of the best forgers on the planet."

Neal sighed. Never in his life had he thought that one of the few times he had real solid proof, they would keep him in prison instead of freeing him. Whatever game Fowler played him he had him trapped.

"Listen," Peter continued, "There's a chance I can reinstate our deal."

"Put the anklet back on?"

"They've got a new one," Peter said. "Not supposed to chafe as much."

So Peter did not trust him enough to release him without. No surprise there. He knew he was unfair, but he was so tired of all mistrust.

"Wow. That sounds like a really great deal," he replied, not in the mood for any more games from the FBI. "From one prison to another."

"Overstating that a little?" Peter said with a little smile. "I'll let you wear ties."

Neal remembered the fun they had had together.

"Coffee?"

"Negotiable. One thing... If we do this again..."

"I have to know who killed Kate." He could not go out there and pretend it never happened. Someone killed her. And probably meant to kill him too. Peter needed to know this one basic need he had.

"I'll find out," Peter said at once. "I'll tell you. That's how it works."

Neal considered. What Peter had said was that Peter was prepared to work on the case and that was fine, but it was also an 'I' and not a 'we'. Could he leave it all to Peter? Trust his friend to do what he could and keep out of it himself? It was not fair to Peter to put him in trouble again.

"Can I get back to you?" Neal asked and saw Peter's surprised face.

"You're looking at three and change. Your only choice is to serve out your time with me or rot in this place."

No, Peter, Neal thought, there is always another way.

"I'm gonna have to interrupt this meeting, gentlemen." Mozzie's timing was spooky. Peter stared. "The defendant has requested the presence of his attorney."

He met Peter's eyes and shrugged a little. Peter, keeping all the legal issues right did not say another word and rose. He had no obligation not to talk to Mozzie though.

"Talk some sense into him," Neal heard him say to his lawyer.

"We'll take that under advisement... Suit."

Peter left and Mozzie placed his briefcase on the table and sat down at Peter's place.

"What sense am I talking into you?" he asked.

"Peter offered me my old deal."

"The anklet?" Neal nodded. "Tempted?"

"I'm open to exploring my options."

"I can get you out of here, but it'll cost," Moz said and opened his briefcase. "It'll deplete most of your reserves."

Neal smiled.

"I can always get cash."

"What do you want to do?"

Neal glanced in the direction Peter left. If he ran and got caught he would spend too many years in prison than he wanted to count, and if those years were in an isolation cell it was not what he would call life.

"I put Peter and Elizabeth in a lot of trouble last time."

"I think the Suit is well aware of the risk that you do that again," Mozzie pointed out. "Still, he offered you the deal."

Neal nodded. The idea of be a free man in three and a half years and working with Peter getting there was more than tempting. Apart from the anklet, it was a life he truly enjoyed. He collected his thoughts.

"Alright, tell Peter that if he can reinstate our old deal, I'm on."

Three weeks later Bobby opened his cell door.

"On your feet, son," he said. Neal lost trace of time in the closed up compartment but he was pretty sure it was not the time for his hour outdoors. Bobby had brought another guard with him. He also saw that Bobby held a pair of cuffs.

"Going to the warden's office," Bobby said as an explanation and made a gesture for him to turn around. Neal obeyed and placed his hands on his back. Since he stole the warden's wife's visa card he had heard that no inmate passed through any of the offices of the prison without being properly cuffed. Neal wondered if it was the warden or his wife who insisted.

"Neal Caffrey, as requested, sir," Boddy said.

"Warden," Neal greeted the warden.

"Mr. Caffrey."

In the office, he was met by the warden but also by Peter. Neal grinned all over his face.

"Hello, Peter."

"Neal."

"You succeeded in reinstating our deal?"

Peter grinned.

"I did."

"And that's why you're here, Mr. Caffrey," the warden said as if he felt the need to remind them that they were in his office. "Agent Burke claims that your old deal is still valid, but I wanted to check with you, Mr. Caffrey, if you feel the same."

"I do, sir," Neal replied.

"And you feel comfortable leaving with Agent Burke and have him as your handler?"

"I do, sir," Neal repeated but felt it was strange of the warden to ask this in public with Peter there and two guards as well. If he had been concerned he would have asked in private. It was probably just formals to ask.

"Bobby, take Mr. Caffrey to Discharge."

"Yes, sir," Bobby replied and guided Neal towards the door.

Peter followed along and took a clothes package with a hanger with him.

"I brought one of your suits with me," he said. "I hope you don't mind."

"Peter, you're an ace," Neal smiled. His handler had had a feeling that he did not want to put on the clothes he had worn when… "Thanks," he mumbled and fought his emotions.

Down at Discharge, Bobby unlocked the cuffs, and Neal changed clothes behind a screen to the suit Peter had brought. There was even a hat inside the transportation bag. Leaving the privacy behind the screen Neal rolled the hat on his head with a coy smile.

"Glad to have you back," Peter chuckled.

"Glad to be back, Peter." He saw a black thing in the agent's hand. "That's the new anklet?"

"Yep." Neal got it in his hand. It did look like an old-fashioned prison anklet in iron. It was almost as he wondered where the chain and the iron ball in the end was. But in the same time, it did not look that bad. It had elegance, in a weird way. It was two semicircles held together at one side by a strap and the other with the locking mechanism.

"Same thing as before," Peter said. "Cut this, and the alarm goes off." He pointed at the strap. "It's there in case of emergencies, like if you break your leg or something. It can be unlocked only by this," Peter continued and held up what looked like a USB-stick. "Anything else will set off the alarm."

"Alright," Neal confirmed. "Shall I put it on?"

Not that he really wanted to, but it was coming on and he had this feeling that Peter did not enjoy it much.

"Sure."

Neal placed his foot on a chair and placed it around this ankle. The two halves met and the orange stripe was unlit with a click and a green stripe was turned on in its place. He pulled at it. It felt solid.

"Comfortable?" Peter asked.

Neal put his foot down. It was still a weight but it was more even around the leg than the last.

"Like a woolly hat."

They got out of prison and to Peter's waiting car.

"Peter, why are you doing this?"

His handler stopped and looked at him.

"You know why, kid."

"But I caused you so much trouble."

"Yeah, you did," Peter agreed. "I don't keep my hopes up, but I would appreciate if you could avoid that in the future. Oh, and one more thing: leave it to me to find Kate's murderer. You stay away from it."

Peter got side the car and Neal got in on the passenger seat. It felt as if history were repeating itself.

"I drop you off at June's. Work starts tomorrow. Catch up with this until then." Peter handed him a file and then got the car started.

Neal browsed through the file.

"You want me to break into a bank?"

"Yep," Peter agreed.

"Never thought you would say that."

He was met by June and they embraced in a warm hug. Then they walked upstairs to the apartment. Neal hurried inside. It really felt like his home.

"I kept everything as you left it," June said. Neal looked around and saw Mozzie in one of the easy chairs.

"Exactly as I left it, I see."

"Oh, welcome back," Moz said drinking coffee.

"I couldn't bear the thought of you at that motel," June continued. "Besides, you can't imagine how quiet it is around here without you." Neal had a guess. "I like a little excitement now and then."

"Me too."

"Thank you, June."

"Of course."

June left him and he smelled the air. He was home. There was no other place in the world he rather lived.


	4. The art of robbing a bank

Dressed as a janitor, Neal pushed the cleaning cart in the basement under the bank. No one was down there more than they had to. Painted brick walls and no windows. For a moment he came to think of the isolation cell in prison. But this was bigger and he could leave any time.

He reached the compressed air tubes. This was an old-fashioned but effective way to transport papers within the building of the bank. Following his mom to the bank as a kid he had watched one of those tubes crossing the ceiling, waiting for a capsule to pass through. It never did. Either it was not much in use or they passed too quickly.

Neal brought out a metal string with sawteeth, glanced around to see if he was still alone, pulled it around one of the pipes, and quickly saw throw the material. With a yank he pulled the pipe lose and pocketed the string. The air whistled throw the gap. He grabbed the pre-prepared capsule with Nick Halden's documents and pushed it inside the tube. It was sucked up and away and Neal replaced the tube. Before anyone would notice it was cut he would be long gone.

From a secret compartment in the trash bag on the cart he pulled a nice, shiny briefcase. He left the cart and walked to the elevator. Inside he stepped out of his overalls, revealing himself in Nick's dark suit and gray tie, with a slightly pink shirt to it. He adjusted the cuffs and tie and stepped out of the elevator into the bank's main lobby.

It was a grand lobby, like a cathedral.

He did not aim for the information desk in the middle but the employees to the left. He stopped by the first desk, probably a personal adviser considering it was accessible to customers. The sign on the desk said 'Pamela Smith'.

"Hi. I'm Nick," he said and she looked up. "Nick Halden. Today's my first day."

Pamela leaned back in her seat, frowning.

"We're not expecting any new employees."

"Hmm? I spoke to Brittney in HR. She said my welcome badge and packet would be ready for me."

"Nobody told me about any of this," she said as if it was his fault. He smiled and shrugged. She rose. "Hang on."

There were four desks outside the restricted office. None of the others were occupied. She searched on the desk behind her and then moved further to where the tubes delivered their treasures. She opened the hatch and picked out his capsule. On the way back she opened it, brought out the envelope, and found the ID with Neal's smiling face on and his title as Account Manager.

She smiled at him for the first time.

"I'm sorry about that. Welcome packet's right here." She handed him the whole kit.

"All right," he glanced at the id. "Looks like me."

"Come on in, Nick," she waved at him and moved towards the restricted office.

"Okay."

They stopped by the door. She pointed at the pad where he was supposed to unlock the door with his new card. It beeped negative. He flipped it over and it beeped again.

"Am I fired already?" he beamed at her.

"First-day glitches," Pamela beamed back and held up her own card. "Here you go."

"Ah, thank you. Oh, you got a little something..." he said, put the briefcase down and took a step closer towards her, "lint right here," removing nothing from her left shoulder while he unhooked her card from her right pocket. "Got it... Just some lint."

"I hope you like it here."

He pushed the door open.

"Oh, so far so good."

He walked right through the office. No one took notice of the new face and he had his ID. Back at the other end he used Pamela Smith's card to open the next door. And lo and behold, her card took him all the way down to the barred door to the vault.

Neal keyed a code he had gained access to from other sources and passed the first hinder into the vault. Another code keyed on the next door and he was standing in front of a fortune in cash.

Too bad he was working for the feds now. This would have been the score of the year otherwise.

He opened his briefcase and started packing wads of money into it. As every bank, they had little devises, dye packs, for ruin loot from robbery by spraying paint all over it, if handed to careless. They had hidden them just below the first bills. Anyone knowing to look would find them easily. He sorted them out and filled his case with safe money.

He left the vault and took another door out to the lobby, passing Pamela as any customer on his way out.

As he walked along the sidewalk feeling like a free man who just robbed a bank when he heard a familiar voice:

"I hope you're not planning on walking with that." He stopped and turned. Peter and Jones leaned against the car. He had passed them, gone his own daydreams.

"No law against thinking about it," he said and held up the briefcase. "Jones."

"Neal," he grinned and took the case, placed it on the hood, and opened it. "Yeah, looks like it's all here."

Peter was delighted.

"All right, let's go tell our branch managers their bank isn't secure."

"Let's do it," Neal agreed. It would be fun.

"It's good to have you back," Peter said.

"It's good to be back."

The bank was not far from the FBI office. It would be nice with a walk.

"Uh, Neal…" he heard Peter behind him. He knew before he saw the anklet in Peter's hand.

"Oh, yeah." Neal took it. "Yeah." A price paid to have fun and rob a bank without sanctions. "Welcome home."

To Peter's annoyance he placed his foot on the car and put the anklet on.

Neal was on his third day since returning to White Collar when he stood in Peter's doorway and said he was ready to rob the bank.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure," Neal returned. "You only asked me to leave with a briefcase of money, remember. Getting in is not the difficult part, it is getting out. But with just a briefcase that will not be much of a problem."

"You've been scouting the area?"

"You know I have, Peter." Neal rolled his eyes and sat down opposite him. "Have some faith in me, will you? I am capable of robbing a bank even if it's sanctioned by the FBI."

Peter chuckled.

"Alright, tell me about your plan."

And Neal did and showed him an employee's ID that he made.

"It doesn't work at all, but it doesn't need to."

"So, when do you want to do this?"

"Meet me outside the bank in four hours."

"Today?"

"Yeah," Neal beamed back and swung his leg up on the corner of the table. "How about removing this?"

"How about me and Jones meet you outside the bank in two hours and I remove the anklet then before you go in?"

Neal took the foot down, still smiling.

"Whatever you say, Peter."

Peter saw the kid leave and he followed his moves with the app on his phone. Neal had walked home.

Two hours later he and Jones were waiting for the kid by the bank.

"How long has it been since the plane blow up?" Jones asked.

Peter considered. It had been in December.

"Four months."

"It must have been tough on him," Jones said. "Just lost his girlfriend and all."

Peter nodded.

"They put him in isolation for his own protection," he said.

"For a social guy like Neal, that must be like hell." Peter nodded to Jones's comment. "See it from the good side," the young agent continued, "he may think twice before risking going back."

The flip side of the coin was that Neal might prefer to escape than going back, Peter thought but had no time to say that before someone knocked on the window of the car. Peter blinked and Jones almost laughed. Neal stood there in a janitor's overalls.

They got out of the car.

"Hello Peter, Jones."

"Hi, Neal," Jones grinned.

"What? Did you expect me to walk into the bank in a suit and tie and just fill the briefcase with money?"

"As far as I know, you've done exactly that."

"That's just a rumor," Neal beamed at him as he placed his foot on the hood for Peter to remove the anklet. He must have seen Peter's frown because he smiled and asked: "What?"

Peter muttered and unlocked the anklet and pocketed it. Jones handed Neal an eagle pen. He opened his overall and placed it in the inner pocket of the suit he had underneath.

"See you in two hours, gentlemen."

A little less than two hours later Neal walked passed them on the sidewalk in suit and briefcase in hand.

"I hope you're not planning on walking with that," Peter called out.

Neal stopped and smiled at them.

"No law against thinking about it," he said and handed Jones the briefcase. "Jones."

"Neal," he grinned and took the case, and opened it on the hood. "Yeah, looks like it's all here."

Peter felt an odd sensation of pride. Odd because he was proud that Neal could rob a bank just like that. But also proud because Neal worked for them.

"All right, let's go tell our branch managers their bank isn't secure."

"Let's do it," Neal agreed. He seemed just as excited as him to show them how easy it was to rob their bank.

"It's good to have you back," Peter said, knowing he repeated himself.

"It's good to be back."

Neal turned and began to walk away.

"Uh, Neal…" Peter said. The kid saw the anklet in Peter's hand.

"Oh, yeah." Neal took it. "Yeah…" He studied the device with a strange smile on his face. "Welcome home."

He placed his foot on the car again, this time to put the anklet back on. Damn kid!


	5. Behind the smile

From Peter's room, Neal watched a whole bunch of suits arrive to the White Collar office. Miss Renee Simmons guided them to the conference room next door, and then knocked on Peter's door frame.

Peter waved for her to enter.

"They're all here," she told them.

He rose and swung on his suit jacket and adjusted his tie.

"Let's go then," he smiled at Neal and walked ahead of them into the conference room.

"Morning, gentlemen," he began at once, even before Neal had followed Simmons inside. "All Midtown Mutual banks have similar layouts and use the same security system. Miss Renee Simmons...

"Gentlemen," she greeted them.

"...Who is in charge of all security for your branches," Peter continued without catching a breath, "requested that we conduct a test on that security."

"Would you please tell us why this is necessary?" one of the gents around the table asked, eager to get to the point.

"We found several flaws." Peter turned to Neal and gave him a nod.

Neal tried not to give them all a smug grin when he placed his briefcase on the table.

"Hi." He opened the case and showed them the stacks of money. "That's a lot of money. Basement access let me bypass the metal detectors at the entrances. The teller cages are nicely protected, but your employees need to be more vigilant. Also, the staff should wear their access badges around their neck, not clipped to their waist... It makes them too easy to lift. And the old dye packs you're using are way too easy to spot. And, guys, the passcodes need to change daily, not weekly."

He closed the case and pushed it out on the table. Unfortunately, he would not get it as a bonus.

"Each of you have received a card like this," Peter said and held up a simple but elegant business card in an evidence bag, "in the past week from someone calling himself The Architect."

Peter had shown it to him the same day when they met back in the office before the bank managers arrived. It just said 'The Architect' with an elegant, special A.

"We believe this is the same person who has hit banks in Dallas, Chicago, and Boston," Peter told the assembled. "If he's operating under the same MO, one of your vaults will be emptied within a week. That's why it's necessary. So let's strategize."

"We'll start changing codes daily," one of the managers said.

"And change so they keep their access cards around their necks instead," another filled in. And so it continued. Peter glanced at Renee Simmons.

"That'll be all for now, gentlemen," she said. "I think you get the picture. I'll send you instructions."

As the managers left the three of them walked back into his handler's office.

"That went great," Neal said to Peter.

"I'm sure they'll sleep soundly tonight," he grinned back.

"So, what do I tell them when they start to panic?" Renee Simmons asked.

"Tell them that we're shoring up their security and that the Bureau is on it."

"Did that help in Dallas, Chicago, and Boston?" the woman asked.

"This is New York," Peter pointed out. "We'll catch him."

"I hope so," she nodded but did not seem to believe the agent for a second. She swung round on her high heels and left.

"'We'll catch him?'" Neal repeated imitating Peter. "That's your halftime speech?"

"Well, you could've said something."

No, Neal thought, because he was not sure they would catch him. A man that took at least a year to plan a heist. Unless they got him with his fingers in the cookie jar he would vanish.

"This guy is amazing, all right?" he told Peter, feeling the admiration flowing. "Dallas was good. Chicago was a work of art."

"Boston?"

"I still don't know how he did Boston," he admitted.

"Really?" Peter stared at him with surprise. Well, it was good to know that his handler had high thoughts about his abilities. "Well, we better figure out how, 'cause I do not want to add Manhattan to that list."

Neal stood by the glass wall watching the office landscape outside. Peter had wanted him to stay. And he had a life here. But Kate…

"You holding up?" Peter asked him.

Neal put his smile back on and turned back to Peter. He did not want to trouble him. Peter had done enough for him and he was out of prison.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm holding up."

"You sure?"

"Yeah," Neal insisted. "I'm gonna..." he gestured out the door. He needed a moment alone, but if Peter thought he was going to the bathroom it was better.

Neal was almost certain he felt Peter's eyes on his back as he left.

Later back at his desk he dived in the study of the special 'A' on the business card. It was more artistic than architectich he thought. He sketched it, tried to figure out if and where he had seen it.

He did not want to think of anything else than the letter. But sitting still, by his desk, did not work. Thoughts of Kate's death reappeared for his inner eyes and he dropped the pen. His hands were shaking.

Peter watched Neal at his desk. He had little experience in grief. But four months, in prison, in isolation, was not sufficient time to put the memory of a loved one to rest, of that he was sure. Not the way she had died. He would gladly give Neal the time he needed in his own home if he had thought that it would do Neal good. But the last thing the kid needed, Peter figured, was time on his own. The second the kid sat down by his desk, he had a hard time focusing.

But Neal would probably do his best to not show Peter. The kid would be a total wreck before he would let anybody know. He searched Neal’s file and found the number he was looking for.

“Hello. How is this?”

“Hello Mozzie, this is Peter.”

“Suit? How did you get this number?!”

“You’re Neal’s lawyer and obliged to give contact information.”

“And does Neal need his lawyer now?”

“No.”

“Then you’re not allowed to call!”

“Mozzie, we need to talk. Now. About Neal.”

There was a pause.

“I don’t trust you, Suit,” Mozzie said after a moment.

“I don’t trust you, either. But that doesn’t change the facts that we need to talk.”

“Alright, then, listen up, because I say this only once.” And then he said a series of instructions which Peter barely managed to make out half of it. Then Mozzie hung up. Peter considered to call again but figured the phone and the number would no longer be in use. At least he had a place in Central Park for their meeting.

Peter left the office.

When he walked up to the fountain he scanned around for Mozzie. Then he happened to see markings with chalk on the tarmac. Arrows and circles guiding him straight ahead to a park bench. It was even marked on the ground with an X where he should be seated. Peter sighed. He sat down and tapped his newspaper twice on the armrest as he remembered it was said that he should do.

He did not need to wait long before his phone rang.

Phone? Did Mozzie call him?!

It was not a number he knew but he was pretty sure who rang.

“Where are you?” he asked.

“We had an agreed-upon protocol,” an odd voice answered in the other end.

“Are you using a voice changer?” Peter asked though it was not really a question. The short guy did.

“You sit on the bench, open the Times to the international section. That's what we agreed on.”

“You're using a voice changer,” Peter said and ended the call. This little man with all his brains had watched too many movies.

“Unbelievable,” he mumbled to himself as he tried to call back on the new number. When he heard the rings in his own phone he also heard them from somewhere else close by. He looked around and saw Mozzie behind a tree.

“I don't see a newspaper open,” he said with the voice changer. Peter rose.

“Get over here!”

At least Mozzie did as he was asked and he walked up and sat down on the bench back to back with his.

“It's your dime, Suit.”

“How's Neal doing?”

“You spend just as much time with him as I do,” Mozzie snapped back as if the answer was obvious.

“I need him. I am counting on him,” Peter said with emphasis. “A lot of people are counting on him, and I don't need him going section eight on me.” Perhaps not a fair comparison, but it was close enough.

“He's not exactly forthcoming,” Mozzie replied, softer. “Kate's only been dead four* months. No one can snap back that fast.”

Peter turned towards Neal’s odd friend.

“Are you telling me the two of you aren't looking into what happened at that airport?”

“The question was, ‘How's he doing?’” Mozzie pointed out. “Not ‘What is he doing?’”

“All right, then what do you think?”

“Quid pro quo.”

“All right,” Peter nodded. Fair enough. “He's got the shakes. He's flashing back to that moment in his mind, and he's freaking out about it. Your turn.”

“As you may imagine, he's a little curious as to who may have killed Kate.”

So they were probably looking into it on their own, he figured. Not good, but expected.

“Does he think whoever killed her was trying to kill him?” he asked.

“It's crossed his mind.”

Peter nodded to himself. Neal had not said a word to him about it but Peter had on the other hand avoided the subject.

“All right, I'll keep looking into things on my side. Until you hear from me, let's keep him busy. We've got a good case now, so let's keep him working on that.”

“How do I do that?” Mozzie asked, baffled.

“You're his friend. You'll figure it out.”

Peter rose and left.

Neal hurried home. Before he left for work Mozzie had said that he had collected a bunch of stuff the past four months. It had been a day full of things to do anyway, robbing a bank and all, but he did not mind. He wanted to keep himself occupied.

Mozzie was waiting for him. 

He closed the door behind him and grinned.

“Let's see it.”

He dropped the file he had brought with him home

“There's a lot,” Mozzie said as he stuffed his hand into a box on one of Neal’s kitchen chairs.

“I know.”

They unpacked the whole box. His own material was there too. And things Mozzie had found. Neal went through it all, walking back and forth in the room. When he had finished it all it was dark outside.

“This is everything?” he asked, a bit baffled. Considering he was no closer to know who killed Kate, there must be something missing.

“Yeah...” Moz said and sat down. “Everything on your search for Kate… Fowler… Mentor…” he passed through the files. Neal already knew the contents of those. He had just read it all.

“Have you heard from Alex?”

“No. Since the... explosion, she's been laying low. Can't blame her.”

“She'll surface.” Neal was sure of it. “What about the music box?” There was a photo of it among the material.

“According to the evidence log, the new Lady Suit...”

“That would be Diana,” Neal informed.

“Diana logged it into evidence in your New York office after Peter recovered it from Fowler.”

Good. As he had hoped Peter had taken care of the box. He had not wanted to ask. It was a great joy to work with Peter but he also knew that Peter was not obliged to tell him more than he needed to know. It was nicer not to find such a boundary. Made him feel more like a real team member.

“I want to see if it's still there,” he said. “Whoever blew up the plane wants that box. They're not gonna let it sit around in an evidence locker collecting dust.” Mozzie glanced at him. “We find the person who wants the box, we find who killed Kate,” Neal insisted.

Then the reality of the work he had been focusing on hit him. Kate’s death, the explosion… He rose and walked to the patio. In the doorway he stopped, gazing out over New York. He had a life here. And still, it felt like he had lost. The memory of Kate in the doorway of the plane smiling at him. How had her skin felt when he toughed her that last time? He had not focused. He had thought it would be the first touch of many, not the last. And why had she hidden from him then? And why had Fowler taken command over her? Why had she not fled?

“The Architect,” Mozzie said behind him. “That's an excellent sobriquet. Is this your first case back?”

“Yeah.”

‘Sobriquet’. Neal tried to be amused. Not often you heard that word. He had wanted to share this night with Kate.

“I need a new nickname.” His friend rose with his wine glass.

“Mozzie's not cutting it anymore?”

“What about… The Question? Or perhaps The Skeptic? Con man?”

What was this? It was so absurd. Of course. Mozzie was trying to cheer him up. He grinned.

“The… The Architect…” his friend continued. “He's a bank robber?”

“A good one. Since when are you concerned with FBI cases?” Neal smiled.

“Since you started spiraling… into… the dark place.”

Neal felt Peter’s hand in this. And was suddenly overwhelmed with love for his two friends. They were true friends, both of them.

“And, as you may remember,” Mozzie continued, “I have colluded on a bank heist or two in my day. Come on. What do we got?”

He was not allowed to discuss it, but since he had this feeling that Peter somehow asked Mozzie, and since he really needed something to think about…

“All right. Three clean jobs in five years. No trail, no evidence. All we have are these business cards.”

He handed one in an evidence bag to him.

“Embossed… Very classy…” He flipped it around, studying it. “What do you make of the ‘A’? I don't recognize the typeface.”

“Forensics doesn't either.”

“Custom font,” Moz mused. “That speaks to a high degree of hubris.”

Neal nodded in agreement.

“What do you think?” he asked. “The elongated slant… It could be a Cyrillic influence.”

“A bit of Russian?” Mozzie said trying to match the considered origin with his dialect. 

“If you left a calling card,” Neal asked, “how would you sign it?”

“I would never leave a card,” Moz protested. “It's way too brazen. Would you?” Neal could nothing but smile at the question. “Of course you would.” Mozzie sighed. “The better question is, if you were him, what card would you leave?”

_*I know Mozzie originally said two months, but 1) I figured two months was a too short time for the bureaucratic machinery and 2) It was cold by the end of season one and I made it December. But it is obviously spring or summer now, so, four months it is._


	6. The Architect

When Peter walked up to his office the next morning he saw Neal working in the conference room. It was a good sign. He took his coffee with him inside.

"Morning."

"I found something on the card," the kid answered. Peter scanned the material Neal collected on the table. Art?

"I'll take obscure Russian painters for a thousand."

"The 'A' has a definite Cyrillic influence," his pet convict grinned back at him while he grabbed for some of the loose pages.

"Well, our tech guys already cracked that one," Peter said. "If the Architect is a mad Russian, that doesn't narrow down our list of possibles."

"Not a Russian," Neal said, "but a fan of Russian paintings." He flipped a book showing Peter. "Ivan Aivazovsky." Peter leaned closer. Lots of oceans and waves. Dramatic and quite dark. "Look at his signature," Neal requested and held out a sheet of plastic with Aivazovsky's signature on and one paper with an enlargement of the business card on. He placed the As on top of each other. They matched perfectly.

"Ohh, look at that!" Peter sat down and grabbed the pages, thrilled. Neal was so good. This would have taken another one weeks or months to find.

"Got it!" Diana said, rushing into the room. Peter looked up. She had addressed Neal and they were smiling at each other.

"Look at you two working together," he said, delighted. "Look at that teamwork."

So Diana had accepted Neal as a team member. That was wonderful.

"We dug up every auction in the last two years to see who's been bidding on Aivazovskys," she said and handed him a three pages long list.

"Excellent, but that's a pretty thick list. What if we cross-referenced people with a business connection in Dallas, Chicago, and…" Peter saw Diana smiling.

"Right here," Diana said. Peter stared at a list with one name on. "Yeah, the list gets shorter."

Neal and Diana made a fistbump.

"One name... Edward Walker." He grinned at Neal. He was so lucky to have the brightest team members in the whole Bureau. "Let's go have a visit."

"Let's do it," the kid agreed.

"Good work." Peter held out his fist towards him for a fistbump. That never came. Alright, he was not Diana. He could live with that. "Good work."

Considering where Edward Walker lived, Neal did not exactly need to think hard to guess that this was a man with lots of, probably legal, money. Mr. Walker lived in a several floors apartment, just as his fan Dan Picah, but this was placed on the top floors. When a woman who introduced herself as Whitney, Mr. Walker’s assistant, showed them out on the rooftop patio, Neal also saw that the apartment had a grand view over the Hudson River.

It was nothing compared to his view over Central Park, though, even if it was from a less glorious hight.

“Mr. Walker, these gentlemen are with the FBI,” Whitney said as he and Peter stepped out on the patio where Mr. Walker, amazingly enough, practiced his golf swing, wasting good balls in the gray, opaque water of the Hudson. Neal sent the young innocent-looking assistant a smile.

“Well, if you're here to give me a ticket for hitting golf balls into the Hudson River, I'll have to write you a check,” the man said from his golf platform without looking at his visitors. He made another ball ready on the peg. “Whitney, get my checkbook, would you?”

“The Bureau doesn't give tickets,” Peter told him. Neal had never thought of that.

“Well, in that case, Whitney, get my golf permit, will you?” The woman left as Mr. Walker, still without acknowledging them, took a swing at the ball. Hitting Hudson again, hurray!

“I'm Special Agent Peter Burke,” his handler said, showing his id. “This is my consultant, Neal Caffrey.”

Mr. Walker turned and studied them, leaning on his gold club.

“What do you consult on, Mr. Caffrey?”

“Investigations that involve my areas of expertise.”

“What areas are those?”

“It's a long list,” Peter said as he brought out the subject of today’s discussion from his inner jacket pocket.

“Here, try a swing.” Mr. Walker held out his club to him.

Neal glanced up at the man on the platform he so far had found rather pompous.

“No thanks.”

“Oh? When was the last time you got a chance to hit a golf ball off the top of the world?”

Neal glanced at Peter. He did not object. Neal took off his jacket and handed it to Peter.

“Oh, okay,” he heard behind him to that, as he accepted the club and changed places with Mr. Walker.

“You recognize this?” he heard Peter ask as he showed their potential bank robber the business card.

“Oh, I'm not an architect.”

“No, you're just a hedge-fund manager with too much time on his hands,” Peter said.

“Well, having a hobby is not illegal, is it?”

“Depends on the hobby.”

“Is there something specific I can help you with, Agent Burke?”

“Contemporary Russian art,” Neal added to the conversation, ready to hit the ball. “Got any Aivazovskys?”

“Three,” the answer came back like a bullet. “You thinking about stealing one?” Neal froze. “It's that device on your ankle. Ooh, you must've been some kind of criminal for the FBI to want to keep you so close.”

Neal smiled with his back the other two.

“I was.”

Then he swung the club and hit the ball.

“Ooh, you sliced that one over into the Chelsea pier.” Mr. Walker sounded worried. “You know, my permit doesn't cover that.”

Too bad, or not, Neal thought as he returned the club to the man. Peter handed him his suit jacket back.

“I understand you have offices in Dallas, Chicago, and Boston,” Peter continued asking Mr. Walker.

“I have offices in most major cities around the world.”

“Could you tell me where you were on April 19th of last year?”

“Off the top of my head? I have no idea,” Mr. Walker replied. Neal heard footsteps behind him and Whitney returned. “But my assistant could look it up for me. Whitney keeps my calendar. April 19th?” He grabbed his phone from the assistant and buttoned it. “Of course. I know exactly where I was. And I would be happy to tell you, providing you can get a warrant based on some bizarre connection you've made between me, an anonymous business card, and random questions about Russian art. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have too much time on my hands. Whitney can show you out.”

Whitney made a gesture towards the door inside and Neal followed, feeling Peter lingering behind him.

“Oh, and, Mr. Caffrey…” Mr. Walker said, again up on his platform, “a suggestion for the next time you commit a crime… don't get caught.” Like he had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Neal had barely time to take one more step before the pompous, self-assured man continued: “And… On your back-swing, just keep it smooth.” And he swung the club and the ball went flying into the Hudson again. He caught Peter looking at him. Did it show on his face that he wanted to nail this guy? It probably did.

“Oh, and, Mr. Caffrey…” Mr. Walker said, “a suggestion for the next time you commit a crime… don't get caught.” It almost made Peter smile. There was so much they had not caught Neal Caffrey for that it was amazing that they had caught him at all.

“And… On your back-swing, just keep it smooth.” The ball made an arch through the air.

Peter was dead sure Edward Walker was their man. Not because he was unpleasant, but because of his keen interest in Neal and giving the young man advice on his criminal career. It was almost as if the older man had shown a stroke of envy when he had seen the anklet and drawn conclusions that the consultant must be quite good.

But from there to arrest him it was probably a long road.

Then he saw Neal’s face. He had seen that bad-guy face just once before when they was out at that comic collecting brat and Peter forced him to play a spy that he just exposed. The kid’s eyes softened when they met Peter’s look.

They followed Whitney out.

“Did Walker get to you?” Peter asked when they were out and walking on the sidewalk again.

“Nope,” the kid answered with certainty. “But I hope he did it. Be fun to arrest him.”

Peter sighed. 

“He got to you. Don't do anything stupid.”

“I won't.”

“Don't tell me it's not in the realm of possibility,” he shot back. “We are under a ton of scrutiny here. Both of us.”

“Got it,” Neal confirmed. Peter glanced at him. The kid sounded serious enough.

“So, why would somebody like him do it?” Peter asked. “Doesn't need the money.”

“The guy's chipping golf balls off skyscrapers,” Neal said with disdain. “You said it. He's bored.”

“So he's gonna risk prison for an adrenaline rush?” It did not sound like a sane reason to him but he saw Neal nodding.

“Yep.”

Well, some threw themselves down cliffs with skies on their feet for an adrenaline rush too, so why not? And Neal should know. 

“Listen, I'm gonna head back to the office and grab a late bite with El.” They stopped. It had been a long day for the kid and he had done a good job. “We're done for the day.”

Neal grinned.

“Tell Elizabeth I say hi.”

The kid moved to leave.

“Neal, nothing stupid.”

“Nothing stupid,” he confirmed with an innocent face of a child that Peter did not trust for a bit. He also knew that Neal liked to tease him. It was a comfort to know that the kid wanted Walker behind bars and knew that there were things that needed to be done in a special way if that was going to happen. But still, it was Neal Caffrey, who always found a way. And he who so desperately wanted to work with the con-man that he might give the guy too much slack. He was pretty sure he did not do give him any slack at all. Most times. But still, he had to fight to keep objective.

He walked back to the office and found El waiting outside.

They kissed and said their hellos and took a walk to Central Park and the bench near the Lake. El unpacked the late lunch she brought to them.

“So how’s Neal doing?”

“He’s done great on the case so far. You should’ve seen him and Diana!”

“I meant how’s he handling Kate’s death, now when he’s out, and with you.”

That was a good question. Most times Peter had to remind himself that the kid was grieving.

“I spoke to Mozzie.” Peter shewed on his sandwich. “We agreed, sort of, to keep him occupied with work.”

“You spoke to Mozzie?” El asked, surprised, and amused.

“Yep,” Peter nodded. “We’re both his friends, you know. And maybe, one day, Mozzie might call me if Neal needs help.”

El agreed.

“Well, he did come when Neal was kidnapped.”

“Yeah, he came to our house. What if you hadn’t been home? Or… I don’t know. It’s a long way to get contact. I want to build a trust so he feel safe enough to call me directly. It’s better and safer.”

“You’re starting to become friends with Neal’s friends,” El noted.

“You think I can’t act on the action, because I like the person?”

“No, I know you love Neal and I know you’ve put those handcuffs on him… twice, since the deal right?”

Peter considered.

“For the jewelry heist, instead of Fowler doing it, and then when I brought him back from that escape out the window…” El nodded. Peter figured that that he had cuffed a drugged Neal to a chair did not count. “I also restrained him after that plane explosion.”

“What? Why? Didn’t the marshals take him back to prison.”

“They did. Neal asked me to put those chains on him.”

El stared.

“Poor you. Poor Neal.”

“Yeah,” Peter sighed.

They ate their sandwiches in silence for a while.

“Why did he want you to do it?”

“He said it was because he knew I wouldn’t put them tighter than needed, but I think it was more to it than that. Like when I first questioned him, he wanted me to take him to detention, because if he was going to freak out he wanted me around, rather than someone unknown.”

“Like when you’re a kid and you can cry when it’s only you and your mom?” El asked.

“Yeah, maybe something like that.”

“He knows you would treat him with kindness and respect even if he shows weakness.”

Of course he would. Anybody should do that. 

Back at the office he wrote the report about the meeting with Edward Walker and got hold of Jones.

“Talk to the FAA. We need flight records, commercial and private,” he told the young Agent. “I want to know if Walker was in Dallas, Chicago, or Boston on the dates of those robberies.”

Jones took notes.

“Done. I'll run credit cards and phone records, as well,” he said as Diana turned up outside his door, “maybe get him making a call or place him at a hotel.”

“Thanks, Jones. Let me know what you find.”

He nodded and left. Diana had turned and stood as if she was thinking, but the minute Jones was down the stairs, Diana slipped inside his room and closed the door.

“Have you checked your calendar?” she asked and handed him a few printouts.

“Fowler's mystery meeting is in three days. These the locations?”

“Very little foot traffic, no cameras, several alley exit points... I see why Fowler picked it.”

“I'm gonna be there.”

“We both should be,” Diana pointed out. Peter looked at her. Yes, she was right. They would both be there.


	7. Cape Cod

Neal had noticed something he was pretty sure Peter had not. The phone in which Edward Walker had his calendar had not only been brought out by the charming Whitney, as they both noticed, but also returned to her promptly. This was not Walker’s private phone. It was not a too far-fetched guess that it was in Whitney’s possession.

Neal knew Peter would go berserk if he found out by his anklet that he had been standing outside Walker’s apartment waiting for a chat with Whitney. So he took a walk in the area, googling, and found that Whitney lived in Gramercy Park. This meant that she probably walked back and forth to work, and with a bit of luck stopped at a cafe along the way.

He called Mozzie, who agreed to keep his eye open for a pretty redhead leaving the building.

An hour later his friend called and told him that the woman in question was at a small restaurant. Ten minutes later Neal had walked there and squeezed himself past her, and just happened to stumble on a chair.

“Ooh!”

“Oh, sorry,” Neal said, charm on. “God. These tables are so close to--”

“Hey,” she said recognizing him.

“Whitney,” he recognizing her in return.

“Mr. Caffrey?”

“Please, Neal,” he corrected her, making it informal. “Neal.”

“All right,” she smiled at him.

“That's what I love about New York.”

“Yeah.”

“Small world.” Did he linger too long? Her eyes were glued at him.

“Please, sit down,” she said. “Join me?”

“Sure?”

“Yeah, sit down.” She moved her bag and he sat down. He saw she looked in a catalog of real estates in Cape Cod.

“Cape Cod… What a relief to meet someone else who's over the Hamptons.”

“I know,” she said, on the same track at once. “I always felt like I was in a Fitzgerald novel. Maybe it's 'cause I'm not from New York.”

“A kindred expatriate,” he agreed and caught her eye again. She was definitely interested. “Would you like another glass of wine?”

He loved that look he got in return. Flirting was indeed good for your soul.

“Yeah,” she agreed, with a coy smile. “Let's.”

He rose and went to the bar and was soon back with two glasses of one of the better red wines the had.

“So which do you plan to buy?” he asked as he sat down. Her bag hung over the back of her chair, next to him.

“Oh, I’m just dreaming away. I cannot possibly afford it.”

“I know that feeling,” he said, putting his arm on her backrest. Not touching her, but enough to give her a feeling of closeness. She did not ming. “I was actually pretending to be a speculator of a house in Nantucket once, just to get a little food for dreams.”

“You were inside?”

“Yeah. It was grand.”

“Been to Martha's vineyard too?”

They got lost in talks about Cape Cod's best places all while the level of the contents in their wine glasses got lower.

“So, you actually prefer Nantucket over Martha's vineyard?” she asked.

“Yeah. Yeah, it's a sentimental thing.” Neal saw Mozzie across the street moving towards them.

“Absolutely!” she said as he slid his hand into her bag without breaking eye contact. “Let's go international.”

He found her phone and held it behind her back just as Mozzie passed and took it.

“Uh, Maldives, hands down. Those turquoise waters are unreal.” They were. “That an acceptable answer?”

“Very good,” she nodded. “Mine's the Seychelles. Yeah. Did you know the sand's actually pink?”

“Wow.”

“Yeah, it's actually pink.”

“Wow.”

Mozzie had had enough time to copy the SIM card Neal figured.

“All right, I'm gonna get you another drink,” he said and grabbed her glass. “But when I come back, European cities. And you are not allowed to say Barcelona.”

“Ooh!”

He walked up to the bar again where Mozzie was already waiting. Neal ordered the wine. Moz pushed the phone over to him under his hand.

“Copied her SIM card,” he said. “Too bad you're conning this one. She's cute.”

“Yeah, I noticed.”

“Be cruel to be kind.”

Neal nodded. It was time to let her break this.

“You're right. The truth hurts, Moz.”

He took the glass and moved back to Whitney.

“You know, I have got to show you these photos from Morocco,” she said and began digging in her purse.

“Yeah?”

“They are in my phone, which is in my giant handbag… somewhere…” 

Probably the phone he had in his hand, even if it was used for work.

“Maybe it's on the table,” he suggested. “I'm always leaving my stuff, like, right in front of me.”

“Could be,” she glanced on the table long enough for Neal to drop the phone in her purse. “But... Oh, it's in here. Here it is. There you go. Um...” They were really close together now. “Do you... Do you want to look at these back at my place?”

“Where is that?”

“Gramercy Park.”

Neal smiled. Let's see how interested she really was.

“Yeah. That's within my radius.”

“Your what?”

“Oh, um...” He lifted his foot and showed her his anklet.

“Is that a tracking anklet?”

“Electronic monitoring anklet, actually. It's a...” Neal noted she was no longer leaning towards him. “It's a funny story, though. A couple of years ago, the feds came after me for everything from art theft to counterfeiting. The only thing they got me on was bond forgery.”

“I… I thought you worked for the FBI.”

“Oh, yeah, yeah, with Peter. He caught me. Both times.”

“Oh.” Whitney was actually leaning away from him now. Neal refused to notice that it hurt.

“Anyway, this is a big day for me,” he continued. “You're the first girl I've had a drink with since I got out of prison.”

“Wow.” Though she was no longer smiling.

“That's not... That's not a problem, is it?”

“I should... really go.”

“Okay. Is it... is it something I said, or...” Neal asked but got no reply. She just took her bag and left. “You know where to find me. Have a good one.”

It was a horrible thought that this could happen at a time where he really wanted a date. Maybe he should ask the prison for his fan letters in case he ever felt ready for a real date again.

“Neal Caffrey on paper...” Mozzie said beside him, “not so great.”

“It's a lot to process.”

“Well, at least we got Walker's calendar,” his friend said and placed a phone on the table and sat down. Neal grabbed the phone.

“Anything?”

“On the days of the previous bank heists, his itinerary is highlighted in green. Usually, it's blue.”

“Green for money.”

“Oh, really?” Moz gazed at him, baffled. “The symbolism had escaped me. Look at tomorrow.”

“He's got a meeting at First Unity Bank at noon, marked in green,” he said as he saw it on the display. “I think we got him.”

“ _We_ don’t. _You_ might. If you get the Suit to accept the source material. I’m pretty confident he will have objections about how it was obtained.”

“I’ll find a way.”

“How's Neal doing?” El asked as they were making dinner.

“Didn’t we talk about that already?” Peter asked. He caught a glance from his wife. Yeah, they had not talked so much about him. “Alright. Great... as far as he says.”

“He's putting up a facade, huh?”

“Of course he is. It's his natural state,” he huffed as he chopped vegetables. “Problem is, I don't know how bad it is.”

“Well, what do you think?”

“I think he went through one hell of a trauma. I also think if he was ready for a straitjacket, he'd be grinning and saying, ‘Peter, you have to trust me.’”

“Well, it's gonna take him some time to become himself again. Does he know?”

“Not how bad it is. Well, he knows that we're under enhanced scrutiny by the Bureau. What he doesn't know is that if we drop a case, I'm collecting unemployment and he's using pictures of Macaulay Culkin for money.” He realized he was no longer slicing cucumber. El smiled and took the knife from him. Well, she was an event planner.

“There was this moment right before the plane exploded. Neal was walking away from me. He stopped, and he turned around, and he was about to say something. Then...”

“Well, what do you think he was gonna say?”

“I don't know.” He considered. He had ideas but… “No.”

“Do you think he was gonna stay?”

“And leave Kate?” He would not have thought that, but still… he had paused. “I don't know. Doesn't matter.”

El was done with the vegetables and somehow managed to make a whole dinner in the meantime.

“Well, I think it matters,” she said, still able to hold a conversation while keeping all critical moments of dinner-making in her mind.

“Why? It's kind of a moot point now.”

“It matters to you.”

Peter sighed. Yes, it did. It did matter to him. And he did not think he would be able to ask Neal. And if he did, would he trust the kid to tell the truth? What if Neal was only about to tell a mindless joke? No, he did not think he was. He was probably just about to say he was sorry for leaving, maybe hoping he had not put Peter in trouble. But he was guessing.

Neal knocked on Peter’s door. It did not take long for his handler to open. He held up the SIM card to Peter.

“What’s that?”

“Walker’s calendar.”

Peter frowned and got that face that looked like a crumbled, angry paper bag.

“And how did you obtain Walker’s calendar.”

“From Whitney,” Neal said, still smiling. “His assistant,” he added as he was not sure if Peter remembered her name. “We met at a small restaurant, she invited me for a drink.”

Peter’s face changed to that flabbergasted ‘I don’t believe you did this’-look that Neal also was familiar with.

“You happened to run into her, and then she invited you for a drink?”

“Got to love New York,” Neal grinned.

Peter at last let him inside.

“Yeah, and then she handed you a copy of her SIM card?”

“Yeah, I'm a confidential informant, right?” he said and swung himself down on the sofa. “And if someone found this information on the street and brought it to you, you wouldn't blink.”

Peter did not look excited at all as he sat down in one of the armchairs across from him.

“I told you, nothing stupid.”

Alright, Peter would not accept the SIM card. But he was an informant and he could always tell what he had learned.

“Word on the street… is that Walker is gonna hit the First Unity branch tomorrow at noon.”

Peter sent him a glance. Then he leaned closer.

“You're sure about this?”

So he got Peter interested after all.

“Oh, yeah.”


	8. Setback

El was out for a walk with the dog when there was a knock on the door. Somehow, he was not surprised to see Neal outside when he opened. The kid held a SIM card. Peter's mood sank.

"What's that?"

"Walker's calendar," Neal replied with a wide, proud grin.

Peter glared at his pet convict who so often seemed to do the wrong things for the right intentions.

"And how did you obtain Walker's calendar?"

"From Whitney," Neal said, still smiling. "His assistant. We met at a small restaurant, she invited me for a drink."

This was just unbelievable!

"You happened to run into her, and then she invited you for a drink?"

"Got to love New York."

"Yeah, and then she handed you a copy of her SIM card?" Peter said, irony dripping, as he let the kid inside.

"Yeah, I'm a confidential informant, right?" Neal said as he sat down on his sofa. "And if someone found this information on the street and brought it to you, you wouldn't blink."

Peter sat down across from him. Why did this guy always search for the loop-holes in the law, when he knew he would be met by objections? Why could he not just do it the right way?

"I told you, nothing stupid."

"Word on the street…" Neal said, confidence not leaving him for an inch, "is that Walker is gonna hit the First Unity branch tomorrow at noon."

Peter glared at him. He did not accept the SIM card and still, the kid insisted that he should learn its contents. But it was not the same as evidence. This was a tip from an informant. They got hundreds of them every day. FBI did rarely act on one tip only. But this was Neal Caffrey, his consultant.

"You're sure about this?"

"Oh, yeah."

The next day he sat in the van with Neal, Jones, an agent from Special Forces, and Renee Simmons from the bank security who hired the FBI from the start. They were right outside the First Unity bank.

"We've got everybody in position," Peter said.

"What makes you sure this bank is the target?" Simmons asked.

"Word on the street," he muttered and could almost see Neal smile beside him.

"I don't understand," Simmons continued. "Why don't you think this bank is secure?"

"Well," Neal said, "they haven't had time to install half the security measures we recommended."

"You've been inside?" she asked.

"I'm very thorough."

"Well, we've reset the vault doors in all of our locations to change daily. There's no way they're getting in there without the access codes."

"These guys have bravado and then some," Jones said. "Dallas was hit at 9:00 a.m., Chicago at the lunch hour."

Peter saw a security guy walk passed one of the security cameras on his way out. He pointed, baffled."

"What?"

"The northwest guard takes lunch at noon," Simmons explained.

The guard stepped out on the street through the side door.

"That's their point of entry." Peter was sure of it.

Then the alarm inside the bank went off.

"What have we got, people?" he called over the radio.

"The sound-activated alarm has been triggered," a team member inside answered. "I got no visual. Accessing vault."

"Do you see anyone?" the agent from special forces asked behind him.

"There's nobody down here."

"They could have disabled the motion detectors and bypassed those cameras," Simmons said.

"All units, go!" the special forces man called on the way out. "Someone find out what triggered that alarm."

The rest of them watched the screens with the security footage. The special forces rushed inside the bank.

"We've got something inside the vault," they heard over the radio and then… "You're not gonna believe this. Meet me outside."

Peter jumped from his seat.

"Jones, take the monitor."

He jumped out with Neal close behind. The agent from special forces met him on his way out from the bank.

"What's going on?" Peter asked.

"This another one of your bank tests?"

"What do you mean?"

The man held out an old-fashioned alarm clock to them.

"That was inside a safety-deposit box."

Peter sighed.

"Whose name was on the box?" the kid asked.

"Peter Burke." Peter was close to cursing when he heard it. "Someone's messing with you, Burke. In the future, don't waste my time. Don't waste my men's time."

The agent was pissed and Peter could not blame him. He had barely marched away when:

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Agent Burke and his personal criminal consultant."

Someone was messing with him alright, Peter thought an he was quite sure who.

"What a coincidence," Neal said to their likely Architect.

"It's odd seeing you here, Walker."

"Why is that?" Walked asked. "I have a meeting right across the street at the Nix Towers. I guess we missed all the excitement. Nice clock. Gentlemen…" He left with his entourage.

"He played me," Neal said. "He..."

"Yeah," he nodded. "Now we got problems."

Neal knew he had given Peter a bad tip and that his friend now had to suffer the consequences. But still… He walked back and forth in the office watching Peter in the conference room together with three other suits, unknown to him. Peter did most of the talking and even if Neal could not hear a word of what was said, it was obvious on the body language that Peter had to do a lot of explanations and defend himself.

"They've been in there for almost an hour," he whispered to Diana who came by for a glance too.

"Yeah."

"You think we'll lose the case?" He so much wanted to bust Edward Walker. And he knew he and Peter could do it.

Diana sent him a stern glance.

"With the department of justice, we'll be lucky if that's all that happens."

"Come on, we were set up. They know that."

"Yeah, and they think Peter should have known that," Diana said and looked at him. "This is the FBI, Neal. We don't act unless we're sure. Peter trusted your lead."

She left and Neal got an unpleasant knot in the stomach. Diana was right. He had been too quick to draw conclusions. And he had not realized what the consequences could be. Peter had trusted him, and he had screwed that up. When he for once was trusted he turned out to be unreliable. It hurt. And it hurt to see Peter suffer for his stupidity. He sure had not been as smart as he thought he had been.

He returned to his desk, not knowing what else to do.

When he saw the three suits leave he thought Peter would call for him, but he just walked into his office and closed the door. Diana knocked, entered and left some files. She exited again and closed the door behind her.

Neal just wanted to run inside and ask, but he was an adult and not an eight-year-old.

"Trying to stare a hole in that door, superman?" Diana asked as she stopped by his desk.

"Did he say anything? Will he keep his job?"

"He wasn't packing."

"Think he'll send me back to prison?" Neal blurted.

Her face turned serious.

"I don't know, but I know as much as he wouldn't do it willingly. And I would think it a shame if he had to." Neal blinked, stunned by her last comment. "Yeah," she nodded, "I like you, Neal Caffrey. You're a great asset."

"Thank you."

Peter left his office, with his trench-coat over his arm, and came down to them.

"Neal's worried you lost your job, Boss."

"No, not yet," Peter said. "Neal…" He gestured for him to follow him. Neal was on his feet and grabbed his hat, making a wide grin at Diana as he put it on. She rolled her eyes but smiled.

In the elevator down, Neal saw that they were on the way to the garage. As long as in Manhattan, Peter preferred to walk going somewhere.

"Where are we going?"

"Home."

Neal still did not feel that he could relax. They walked to the car and Peter drove out of the garage.

"If you're going to take me back to prison, just say so, okay?"

"I'm not putting you back in prison. Relax." Peter sent him a glance. "For now at least."

Neal did relax.

"We need to talk," Peter continued after a moment. "But most of all, I need a beer, relax, and put this whole mess behind me."

Though his handler must be annoyed with him, Peter still wanted to take a beer with him. Neal felt oddly pleased.

They got inside his house. Peter gestured towards the dining-room table.

"Have a seat."

Neal sat down at the end. Peter took his jacket off and loosened the tie.

"Look, Peter, I know I—" Neal began but fell silent when Peter raced his hand.

"Neal, I acted on a tip I shouldn't have acted to. I was just as eager as you to catch the Architect. As you said, you're the informant but I'm a Federal Agent. The responsibility is mine."

Peter left for the kitchen. Neal followed Peter's example and took his jacket off. Peter returned with two bottles of beer and placed one of them before him.

"So, today was a bit of a setback," Neal said, still not sure what the situation meant.

"You think?" Peter huffed, walking across the room. "Took me a while to wipe the egg off of my face."

"We can catch this guy."

"This guy is no longer our investigation." Peter passed him on his way back and forth in the room. "This is bad."

Peter had shown him trust. He did not want to ruin that.

"There's something you should know," he said, with Peter still behind his back. "When we were at the hangar that day, before… everything happened, I was gonna tell you something."

There was silence.

"What?" Peter asked and returned to the table.

Neal did not want to bring up memories from that day, but Peter needed to know.

"I didn't want to run anymore." That had been his dilemma when he had stood there. Peter studied him. "If I'd gotten on that plane, regardless of whatever deal was made, it wouldn't have felt like freedom."

"Why?"

"Because it was an escape. You were right, Peter. I have a life here." A life that he wanted to keep, but not quite understood how much until he had a choice. "If there was something you could've done to protect Kate, I know you would've..."

"I would've," Peter agreed.

"The same way I know you can get Walker."

His friend broke up in a laugh and Neal joined.

"It's not fun being tweaked by the bad guy, is it?" Peter said.

"Especially when you see him make one of your friends look like an idiot," Neal shot back with a smile.

"So, today was a bit of a setback," the kid said as Peter placed a bottle of beer in front of him. That was an understatement.

"You think? Took me a while to wipe the egg off of my face."

"We can catch this guy," Neal said, confident. Yeah, they could. He knew that too. But he had lost the chance.

"This guy is no longer our investigation. This is bad." He drank from the bottle and was glad he had no problem keeping from something stronger. He would ride this out, he would survive.

"There's something you should know," the young convict said, back to Peter, sitting by the table. Peter paused, waited. "When we were at the hangar that day, before... everything happened, I was gonna tell you something."

Peter could feel his pulse raise. He walked back to the table to see the kid's face. But still, appear relaxed instead of excited.

"What?"

"I didn't want to run anymore." The kid had said so simply, so honest. Peter looked at him. Sometimes Neal seemed like an open book, so vulnerable. "If I'd gotten on that plane, regardless of whatever deal was made, it wouldn't have felt like freedom."

"Why?"

"Because it was an escape. You were right, Peter. I have a life here." Did Neal understand how happy he just made him hear those words? "If there was something you could've done to protect Kate, I know you would've..."

"I would've," Peter confirmed.

"The same way I know you can get Walker."

What a switch of the subject. Peter could not help laughing. Neal was such a pleasant person to be around.

"It's not fun being tweaked by the bad guy, is it?" Peter asked, playing on his friend's vanity.

"Especially when you see him make one of your friends look like an idiot," Neal agreed.

"What?"

"Not that you, you know, look…"

"Little bit, yeah," Peter agreed, measuring a small distance between his fingers.

"But you kind of… yeah."

Peter looked out of the window at nothing particular. Neal knew what triggers to push alright. He had found and pushed those triggers before, when Peter was after him, making Peter work even harder to catch him. Funny really, but it was as if Neal had wanted to get caught. Peter focused on the crime at hand. He did not like to look like a fool. No way that he could leave the case now, even though he was ordered to. Should he be angry at Neal for that? No. Not after what he just said.

He sat down by the kid.

"All right, let's start from the top. Why would he send a card to warn the bank?"

"To challenge us?"

Peter frowned. Edward Walker challenge the FBI? It did not feel right. That was something Neal Caffrey would do. Walker felt too lofty, too sure of his own superiority.

"For what purpose?"

"To see if we're on his level," Neal said, excited. "It's a test. There's no fun in playing the game unless you have a worthy opponent. He wants to see if we're as good as he is."

No, Peter thought that was not it, but…

"Go back."

"What?"

"You said 'test'."

"Yeah, to see what we'd do."

"What did we do?"

"We ran the…" Neal began and then it dawned to him. "We ran the security. We revealed the bank's weaknesses to him."

It was not a matter of a worthy opponent. It was a doing from someone who knew he would win because he was smarter than everyone else.

"I wonder if the Bureau had security tests on the other cities' banks before the robberies." Peter fumbled for his phone.

"Who you calling?"

"Jones." Who just phoned him! "Oh, look at that... ESP." He answered the call. "Jones, I was just calling you—"

"Peter, turn on your TV."

"Why?" He was already on his feet going for the remote.

"Channel 3." Peter ended the call as he turned on the TV. Neal joined him as they watched a news break with plenty of NYPD's police cars driving with their blue lights on.

"City officials are reporting a total of 36 alarms have gone off in banks throughout the city," the newscaster said. "There is serious speculation—"

Peter speed-dialed one of his contacts at NYPD. The line was busy.

"Every cop in the city must be out there right now," the kid said.

"I can't get anybody from NYPD," he said as he got a busy line for yet another one of his numbers.

"He's spreading us thin."

"It's another misdirect," Peter hissed. He did not want to be fooled again.

"None of these banks got Walker's cards," Neal noted. "He's going after one of the initial five."

"You got that right." Peter was thinking fast. "Renee said she changed the vault access codes."

"Then no one can get in without her," the kid said with the same sense of urgency that he felt.

"We got to find her before someone else does."

Both of them were on the move before he had finished the sentence.


	9. Alternate access route

"Midtown Mutual," Neal told Peter as they rushed out to the car. "If he used our tests that's the bank he'll rob."

Peter nodded and they drove off. He used voice commands to call Diana.

"Diana, where are you?" Peter yelled when she answered.

"I'm almost at First Unity."

"First Unity, where we arrested the clock," Peter huffed.

"Yeah, their alarms are going off again," Diana continued. "Half the banks in town are being robbed."

"I don't think so."

"What, you think it's a smokescreen?"

"Yep, Neal and I are headed to Midtown Mutual."

"Midtown's one of the few that's silent," Diana noted

"Exactly."

"Well, if Walker's crew are there, you can't go in without backup."

"Then get us some!" Peter commanded. "I got a feeling they're going after Renee."

"Okay, I'll find you a SWAT team," Diana said and ended the call.

Peter and he had just arrived to Midtown Mutual and Neal hurried out of the car and up to one of the pillars separating the entrance doors. He peeked inside from his cover and saw an unconscious guard being dragged out of sight.

Peter joined him by another pillar.

"You see him?"

"Yeah, I did."

They saw Renee being held by two men in masks.

While Peter pulled his gun, Neal hurried away but Peter grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back.

"Where are you going?"

"We got to break in."

"Nobody said anything about breaking in."

Smacking his handler, especially as a convict, would be a stupid idea. But sometimes Peter was so much a Federal Agent that it was painful.

"Look, even if we could get through these doors," Neal started, "which we can't, they'd see us. We'll have to go another way."

"There is no other way. We sealed off the basement after your test."

"The basement was the easiest way in," Neal grinned.

"Easiest?"

"There's always another way. Come on, Peter."

This time Peter did not stop him when he left off around the corner of the building. There was a fire escape ladder all the way up to the rooftop. Most people felt too exposed and did not enjoy heights to use them entering a building illegally.

Neal and Peter jogged in criss-cross between the ventilation units. Then someone came walking with a mask and a rifle and Neal took a quick turn to hide. Peter did the same in the other direction. The guy had not seen them.

"Well, looks like Walker knew about the roof vent," Neal said to Peter.

"Yeah."

Neal glanced around the corner towards the bad guy.

"He's got a radio."

"We're gonna have to do this quickly before he alerts the rest of them," Peter agreed and put a bullet in the chamber of his gun. Neal shivered. He hated guns.

Peter showed himself.

"FBI! Drop your weapon—"

Bullet rained and Neal was pleased to see that Peter was unharmed.

"So much for taking him alive, sheriff," Neal called out to Peter. "Now he's gonna tell Walker we're up here."

Peter sent him a glare.

"No, he's not."

He turned, aimed, and fired. Neal saw the guys radio blow into pieces in his hand. Wow! Peter could indeed shoot. He had been afraid that his handler would shoot the guy instead. What a relief!

“Well, looks like Walker knew about the roof vent,” Neal noted.

“Yeah.” Neal knew about them too. But there was nothing about them in his report.

Neal peeked.

“He's got a radio.”

“We're gonna have to do this quickly before he alerts the rest of them.” Peter chambered the gun and aimed at the guy.

“FBI! Drop your weapon—” He saw a muzzle turn towards him and took cover and heard and felt the bullets hit around him.

“So much for taking him alive, sheriff,” Neal barked from the other side. “Now he's gonna tell Walker we're up here.”

Did the kid blame him for not killing the man? Still, they had to prevent him from sending an alarm.

“No, he's not.”

He turned, aimed, and fired. The robber’s radio exploded into pieces in his hand.

“Now drop your wea—” Peter tried again but dived back into his cover as several bullets smashed into the pipe. He saw the man run.

“Let him go,” he told Neal. “We got to get to Renee.”

“Nice shooting, Butch,” the kid said as they jogged towards their rooftop entrance.

“Thanks, Sundance.”

“All right, ready?” Neal asked by the hatch, holding it. Peter nodded. “One, two, three.” Neal flung it open and Peter pointed his gun down the shaft. It was empty.

“Well, what do you say?” his pet convict grinned beside him. “Ready to break into a bank?”

Peter could not help smiling. Yeah, he was ready. He climbed down the ladder.

“The building is so old,” Neal said above him, “that modern vent systems have to be forced in where possible.” The ladder ended in a room where a whole wall was a giant air filter. Neal walked to a spiral staircase and continued down. Peter realized they were actually inside a ventilation shaft.

At the bottom, they were inside another small room with just two ventilation grids. Neal glanced through one of them and removed it.

“Were you ever gonna share your alternate access route with me?” Peter muttered as he crawled out. He trusted Neal to do his job, but he did not like that the job also seemed to give him insights he did not care to share.

“I just did,” Neal said when he followed him out on the balcony over the bank lobby. “Admit it, Peter, we'd make a pretty decent team.”

“Bank robbers?”

“I see you smiling.” They moved so they had a view over the lobby. “Come on, the infamous Caffrey and Burke... We'd be legends.”

Peter was not sure if the kid was joking or not, but right now he did not care. Four men in dark suits and masked moved across the lobby with Renee.

“Yeah, I can see the wanted posters now,” Peter said, “but it'd be Burke and Caffrey.”

He glanced at the kid. He knew the premises best. Neal considered and then pointed. They hurried with silent steps along with the balcony.

“Were you ever gonna share your alternate access route with me?” Peter did not sound too happy. Neal could not blame him. Still, he had given the FBI and the bank management enough for them to have their hands full. They were pleased with his job. Besides, he did not withhold the information now, did he?

“I just did,” he said. “Admit it, Peter, we'd make a pretty decent team.”

“Bank robbers?”

He knew it would never happen but it would be awesome to do heists with this man.

“I see you smiling. Come on, the infamous Caffrey and Burke... We'd be legends.”

“Yeah, I can see the wanted posters now,” Peter said as he glanced out over the lobby below. “But it'd be Burke and Caffrey.”

Neal grinned. Peter would never rob a bank but still presumed he would be the leader of the two. Well, if it ever happened, Peter would move into Neal’s area of expertise which would make him the leader. But Neal could sacrifice some vanity if that meant Peter did do a bank heist.

Peter sent him a look. ‘Where do we go from here?’. Neal considered their options and then gestured. They hurried over to a staircase and down to the lobby floor. The robbers opened a door at the far end and all walked inside. It was the same door Neal had used to get to the vault.

They ran over there and Neal held up the access card that he had taken from the nice lady welcoming him when he arrived.

“That was supposed to be returned to the bank!” Peter sounded upset.

“Aren't you glad it wasn't?” He passed through the door and pointed “This way, this way.”

Peter stared as Neal brought out one of the original access cards from the bank and used to open the door.

“That was supposed to be returned to the bank!” That was crossing the line. He had a paper with Neal’s signature on where he promised to return things like that and not use it outside of the security test. Now was not the time, but the kid had to pay for it.

“Aren't you glad it wasn't?” the young con-man just brushed it off and pointed, letting Peter take the lead. “This way, this way.”

By the end of the corridor, Peter glanced around the corner. There were the robbers and Renee by the barred door to the vault.

“Open the vault!”

“I'm trying. I'm doing my best.”

“Is it Walker?” Neal whispered.

“I can't tell.”

Renee got the code right and they continued ahead to the next door in the vault.

“All four of them armed and involved with Renee,” Peter informed Neal.

“Take her. Put her in her office,” they heard from the vault. “Don't be stingy with the tape.”

“They're coming back,” Peter mumbled.

They ran ahead to the office and hid. From the doorframe, they saw the robbers taking her to another office.

“There's an emergency exit off the rear staircase,” Neal said. “You create the distraction. I'll get her to safety.”

“Good idea, but wrong,” Peter returned and the kid frowned. “I'll get her to safety.”

“I know the layout,” Neal protested.

“I have a gun.”

Neal crossed the room to a control box, opening it.

“All right, you get her to safety,” he agreed. “I'll create the distraction.”

“Good idea.”

“I'm gonna need your phone.”

“What?”

“I'm doing the phone thing. Come on.”

Peter gave in and thew him his phone. He watched the kid take his own phone, calling Peter’s, taking the call at once.

“Do your thing, Dirty Harry,” Neal ushered him away.

Peter ran towards the office where they had taken Renee. In the meantime, the lights went out one after another. He hid from the two robbers leaving Renee. When they passed he got inside the room.

“Agent Burke?” Renee asked, surprised. She was taped to a chair.

“Shh. I'm getting you out of here.”

At last, he heard approaching sirens.

Neal followed behind Peter partly down the corridor and then sent the phone along the floor and then jogged away in the other direction. He heard people talking, the robbers, wondering what was happening since the light went out. They walked down the corridor.

Neal whistled into his phone.

“Down here.”

He heard someone picking the phone up.

“Hey, this might be a good time for all of you to leave.”

“Damn it!”

Neal grinned and hung up. He heard sirens approaching. He jogged towards the entrance. There he saw Peter and Renee.

“Peter.”

“Sounds like Diana knocked some sense into SWAT,” the Agent said. “Let's get Renee out of here.”

“They're going out the back!” Neal pointed out.

“It doesn't matter.”

What?

“I'm going after them!” Neal said and started running.

“Let them go!” Peter called after him. “They've got guns! Neal!”

Neal burst out through the door and out on the sidewalk. It was an ordinary populated street of New York. No robbers, no panic, nothing. It was almost as it never happened. If it had not been for a dropped mask on the ground. Neal picked it up. They were gone.


	10. The last share

They drove back to the office, both quiet. Neal wondered if he had tipped the robbers off too much. If he heard the sirens the robbers would too, so if he had told them it was time to leave, it would probably not matter. And Peter had not wanted to run after them!

"I hope you know you're in trouble," Peter said.

"What?"

"That access card you didn't return to the bank."

"Oh, Peter, it helped us!"

"That's beside the point. You signed an assurance that you would return all items. I trusted you to do your job!" Peter sent him a glare that hurt. He had broken Peter's trust again. "No one would blink if I returned you to prison for this, do you understand? Why did you keep it?"

Neal shrugged.

"I don't know. Honestly, Peter, I don't. It's just that good-thing-to-keep thing with me. It wasn't intentional. I didn't plan to do anything with it. It's just old habit." He searched Peter's face for a reaction. Did he believe him? "I'm not lying to you, Peter."

"Neal, you have to stop with those things."

"I know." He agreed with Peter on that one. It was a habit he had, to keep things that could be useful someday. In this case, it was a bad habit. Even if it helped them today, Neal had to admit Peter was right. He had promised to return everything and Peter had trusted him to do so. No matter how good he did a job, it was always those little things that would make him untrustworthy. If he was going to live in Peter's world, he had to stop doing that.

They drove down the garage of the FBI.

"You're not taking me back to prison, then?"

"No, not for this. But you're not off the hook, yet, you got that."

They got out of the car and into the elevator. When they got out Jones stood by the door on his way down.

"Jones, get me Walker," Peter said. "I want to talk to him."

Jones changed his plans and held up the door to the office for them.

"He's already here," the agent said. Neal knew who was sitting on a desk with his back to them, with an unknown man in a dark suit beside him.

They walked in and Walker rose and turned.

"Oh, I heard what happened at the bank," he said to Peter with a gracious, lofty smile. "I thought maybe I could save you some trouble."

"So you're here to confess?" Peter asked, hands on his hips. Walker just laughed.

"I figured you're gonna give me a call because I'm sure Mr. Caffrey has my cell number. Arthur?" The other man handed over a few papers to Peter. "You'll find my alibi in there in addition to my company's lawsuit."

"Lawsuit?"

"Yes... unwarranted harassment, defamation of character. And, you know, there's a litany of other charges, but, gee, why spoil the surprise?"

Neal was really proud to see that his handler did not seem to flinch at all.

"Enjoy this game you're playing. It won't end well for you."

"Oh, the game is already over," Walker returned, self-assured. "This architect, whoever he is, has already won." He walked passed Peter. "Mr. Caffrey." He had just about passed him when he stopped. "Oh, if I did do it, do you think they would make me a junior FBI agent, too?"

Neal just looked at him without saying a word or even bother to appear angry. It was guys like this who made him ashamed to be a criminal. Not the crimes, but the total lack of respect for other people. And if Walker thought he had won just because he managed to rob a bank he was wrong.

Walker and his Arthur left and took the elevator down.

"Wow," Neal breathed, "that is one arrogant bastard."

"That's one way of putting it," Peter nodded. "This is gonna be a problem."

"Why?"

"If we don't catch him really fast, his lawsuits will take all our time and when we're back if we get back, the trace had gone cold."

As they drove down the garage of the FBI the kid said:

“You’re not taking me back to prison, then?”

The thought of prison scared him, Peter noted. That was good. He just wished Neal thought of that a bit more often.

“No, not for this,” he said. “But you’re not off the hook, yet, you got that.”

It would probably result in house arrest but it was no good time for it, with Neal grieving Kate and all.

They got out of the elevator and met Jones. 

“Jones, get me Walker, I want to talk to him.”

Jones held up the door to the office for them.

“He's already here.”

Peter blinked and saw Walker and another man turn to face him as he came in. Walker? Here? This man was bold and in a great need to show off.

“Oh, I heard what happened at the bank,” Walker said. “I thought maybe I could save you some trouble.”

“So you're here to confess?” Unlikely, but it did not hurt to presume. Walker chuckled.

“I figured you're gonna give me a call because I'm sure Mr. Caffrey has my cell number. Arthur?” The other man handed over a few papers to Peter who took them. “You'll find my alibi in there in addition to my company's lawsuit.”

“Lawsuit?”

“Yes... unwarranted harassment, defamation of character. And, you know, there's a litany of other charges, but, gee, why spoil the surprise?”

Walker grinned, sure that he had the upper hand in this game. Well, he faced Peter Burke who had caught Neal Caffrey. This little bastard would be far less trouble.

“Enjoy this game you're playing,” Peter hissed. “It won't end well for you.”

“Oh, the game is already over,” Walker assured him. “This architect, whoever he is, has already won.” He walked passed Peter, nodded to Neal, but before he left, Peter heard him say: “Oh, if I did do it, do you think they would make me a junior FBI agent, too?”

The kid did not reply.

It was quite amazing how Walker admired Neal and therefore had to try to humiliate him. If you had this need to be smartest and grandest, anybody threatening that position had to be demolished.

Walker and his lawyer left and took the elevator down.

“Wow,” Neal said beside him, “that is one arrogant bastard.”

Peter sent Neal a fond glance. The kid was smart and still had more care and respect in his little finger than Walker had in his whole body.

“That's one way of putting it,” he agreed. “This is gonna be a problem.”

They watched the security tapes from the robbery, once, twice, three times. Then Peter bounced from his chair.

“Nothing useful on the tapes!”

Neal knew Peter well enough to know that this case hurt Peter’s ego, just as much as those cuffs had hurt his on his first arrest.

“They were in and out in five minutes,” Neal summoned. “Gridlocked half the city to kill your response time, plus they had a perfect exit strategy.”

“Walker was in control every step of the way. He wants us to know it!”

“Then that's how we get him,” Neal said, thinking of his own arrest and Peter’s trap. “The one thing he can't control is his ego.”

“Vanity is no cause for indictment.” 

“I was never bold enough to walk into your office when you were after me.” It had crossed his mind to do it, but it felt overly foolish.

“I want this guy.” Peter hissed.

“The one thing he can't control is his ego,” the kid said. Well, that did not help them much.

“Vanity is no cause for indictment.” 

“I was never bold enough to walk into your office when you were after me.”

No, Neal had fooled them sure enough, but he had never been arrogant. He could not see Walker leaving them a bottle of Champagne on New Year's Eve.

“I want this guy."

“Hell hath no fury like a fed scorned,” Neal mused.

It was not that simple. He had looked through that lawsuit. It was not just a matter of stalling their work. There was enough in there to cause real trouble.

“We are facing a multimillion-dollar lawsuit from a suspected thief who walked away from the crime scene in broad daylight.”

“What? Are you saying we're done?”

“We better not be,” Peter said. “Otherwise I can't stop the DOJ from putting me on the breadline and you behind bars.” And he had been thinking of house arrest for his pet convict. It was almost a joke.

“Come on, man,” Neal protested. “While they were chasing ghosts around the city, we were right.”

“Doesn't matter. We didn't catch him.”

Jones came into the conference room. He handed him a note.

“Final tally.”

He left again while Peter checked what it said.

“Looks like they got away with 8.2 million dollars.”

Neal’s reaction was not what he had expected. The kid frowned, in thoughts. Glancing at the surveillance footage, still rolling on the screen.

“You sure about that?”

“Jones has excellent penmanship.”

Neal was on his feet and backed the tape until they say the four robbers leaving, crossing the lobby. He stopped the tape.

“Four guys, two Samsonites each,” he said. “Peter, about how big would you say the briefcases are?”

Neal grabbed a pad and a pen. Peter had no idea where Neal was going with his line of thought but it did not matter.

“I don't know... 16" by 13"?”

“Height?”

“Four or five inches.”

“Denomination of the bills, all Franklins, right?” he wanted to make sure. Yes, they were all hundred dollar bills.

“Right.”

“Hundred bills in a pack, volume of each pack is less than 8 inches.”

Peter got it.

“The dimensions don't add up.”

The kid flipped the pad so he could see the younger man’s calculations.

“We're looking at around 960,000 dollars in each case,” the kid said.

“That's over 6.5 million total,” Peter said.

“Final tally was 8.2.”

God, he loved this kid.

“Which means that more than a million and a half is unaccounted for.”

Neal smiled.

“Sounds like enough to be a share.”

Renee let them into the bank.

“Thank you."

“Sure.”

“I appreciate you taking the time,” Peter said.

“You said you had a theory?” she asked as they crossed the lobby.

“Our faceless friends may have left something behind. I'd like to re-examine the vault, just in case.”

“No rest for the weary, huh?” Neal smiled.

“Those creeps held a gun to my head,” Renee snapped back. “I'll rest when you catch them.”

Peter and Neal exchanged a glance. They walked down to the vault and she let them in.

“Your team was pretty thorough,” she said. “What is it you think that they missed?”

Peter moved along the safety deposit boxes.

“Two thirteen.”

“Excuse me?”

“Deposit box two thirteen,” Peter repeated. “Pretty sure no one's looked in there yet.”

“Sounds like it's worth a shot,” Neal agreed beside him.

“I'm sorry, gentlemen. That's the property of one of our customers. You'd need his authorization or a warrant.”

Peter nodded and held up a key.

“Got this from the Bank President. But the box doesn't belong to one of your customers. It belongs to you.”

Renee managed a laugh.

“I'm afraid you're mistaken.”

“No, we did a background check on all the boxes in this vault.”

“Did you know two thirteen was rented to your uncle two months ago?” Neal asked.

“I don't see why that would be a problem.”

“I do,” Peter said. “He died two years ago. Either it's a miracle...”

“Or you forged his application,” the kid added.

“My money's on the latter.”

Renee smiled.

“Okay, fine.” Her hand went down in her large purse and she brought up a key. “Why don't you have a look?”

Peter turned and opened the hatch and pulled out the box. He opened the lid. The box was filled with hundred dollar bills.

“Wow,” Neal said beside him.

Peter took a good grip and lifted the box to the table, turning back to Renee.

“1.5 million dollars in cash…” He fell silent when he saw the woman pointing a gun at them. Neal had already raised his hands. “All right…” Peter placed the box on the table and raised his hands too.

“Did you know she had a gun?” the kid asked.

“I did not.”

“Okay, get the bag,” Renee said to Neal, “and put the money in the bag.”

Neal did as she said.

“Not a bad plan,” Peter told her. “Walker leaves your cut, and all you have to do is walk out with it once the dust settles.”

“Pretty good plan, I'd say.”

Sure, but even if she held them under gunpoint, it was over for her. She did not seem to realize this.

“Except we figured it out. You really think you can outrun the FBI?”

“For the record,” the kid added, “it's a marathon, not a sprint.”

“He would know,” Peter said and got a glare from Neal.

“Stop talking, and put the money in the bag!”

“That was a pretty nice acting job you did for the cameras.”

He got another glance from Neal.

“Even the best laid plans...” his pet convict said as he briefly folded the top bill aside and showed him an old dye pack there. The bank had still had not changed those. Neal left that pack of cash hidden behind the bag and continued packing.

“Shut up!”

Peter had no such intention.

“Walker convinced you to help him, didn't he?”

“He convinced me I shouldn't wait twenty years to have a mediocre pension to retire on,” Renee yapped at them. “Why wait when I can have three times that right now?”

Neal glanced at her.

“Because you'll get caught.”

Had Neal ever thought he would get away with it? Somehow Peter had this idea that Neal knew the law would reach him sooner or later.

“Again, he would know,” Peter added, not sure why. To stir something into a useful situation maybe.

The kid sighed and sent him another angry glare.

“Did I tell you to stop?” she shrieked.

Neal kept eye-contact with him locked down. Peter saw the gesture he made and saw his hand. He had found another pile of money with a dye pack.

“Keep filling the bag!”

The kid did not. He turned to face Peter.

“Could you stop doing that, please?” Neal asked Peter as he just happened to take one pack of bills in each hand.

“What?” Time to cause distraction.

“Rubbing it in. It's very hypocritical.”

“Well, it's not untrue,” Peter protested, knowing it was an act, but still… “I caught you.”

“Hey!” Renee yelled waving her gun.

Neither of them pretended to care about her.

“Okay, you know what? I'm tired of this,” Neal stated.

“Of being held hostage or what?”

“No, bickering with you.” Was he bickering?

“Well, you're not the only one.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really.”

“Wow. Okay. Maybe it is time for this partnership to end.”

“Okay, that's fine by me. I can finally start my novel.”

“Novel? You can barely write a parking ticket.”

How could that hurt, Peter wondered? It must be the heat of the acting.

“You know, that's very immat—”

“Hey!” Renee tried again.

“Hold on,” they both yelled back at her.

“You really want this to end?” Peter yelled at Neal.

“Do you?” Neal yelled back.

“I'm ready.”

“Let's do it!”

“Shut up!” Renee screamed. Neal swung towards her and smashed the two packs together activating the dye packs and that exploded with purple color in her face.

She backed away.

“Aah! Ugh, my eyes!” 

Peter ran up to her and took her gun away, pointing it at her instead.

“In here! We're in here!” he yelled at the team he knew had entered behind them, waiting. Now they came hurrying down “Right there. Handcuff her. Somebody read her her rights.” 

“Yes, sir.”

Renee was cuffed without making any resistance. He looked at Neal.

“Nice job.”

“Not so bad yourself.” They left the vault. “Novel?”

“Nah…” Peter shrugged. “Guess most agents dream of write a novel telling what’s it is really like working for the FBI.”

“Will I be in it?”

Peter chuckled.

“Definitely.”

“I think you’ll have to write a whole series then,” Neal grinned. “Let’s do this, Peter. You’ll get rich.”

“No. No one would believe me.”


	11. Time for meetings

Whitney sent him a nervous glance as he was let inside Walker's home together with Peter. He just sent her a smile.

"I'll tell him you're here, Agent Burke," she said. "And Mr. Caffrey."

"No." Peter stopped her. "You've got an envelope?"

She sent him a stare.

"Sure. I'll get you one."

She soon returned with an envelope and Peter brought out one of his business cards and put it inside. He handed the envelope to Whitney.

"Now, give this to Mr. Walker, will you?"

She left.

Neal sent Peter a smug grin and his handler returned it. Then they followed Whitney up the stairs.

"Mr. Walker?" they heard Whitney ahead of them. "This just arrived for you."

They continued out on the patio where Walker still was burring golf balls in the Hudson River. Except now he held an FBI business card in his hand.

"It's only fair," Peter said. "You gave us a heads-up. I'm returning the favor."

Behind Neal came Jones and behind him a bunch of agents in FBI windbreaker jackets.

"Well, this is only going to help my lawsuit," Walker smiled.

"Mm, there won't be any lawsuit."

"And why is that?"

"Your inside woman. Renee talked."

"Why settle for twenty-five to life tomorrow," Neal said, "when you can plea-bargain today?" Walker met his eyes and Neal saw he knew he had lost. "Oh, next time, don't get caught," he added with the same sly smile Walker had given him.

Jones was there and pulled Walker's wrists behind his back. As he did he dropped his golf club and Neal caught it.

“Why settle for twenty-five to life tomorrow, when you can plea-bargain today?” the kid said and Peter saw, quite pleased, that Walker knew where that phrase came from. “Oh, next time, don't get caught.” 

The house always wins Peter thought when Jones cuffed Walker.

“Whitney, call Arthur,” Walker said as he was led away. “Call the legal team.”

Neal held Walker’s abandoned golf club. He took off his hat and handed it to Peter as he stepped up on the platform and placed one of Walker’s golf balls on the peg.

“Neal?”

The kid just made a gesture for him to be patient. With a fast and precise swing, Peter saw the ball fly straight away like an arrow. So the previous shot was just to tease Walker then? And now he needed to prove to Peter that he could play golf as well? No, Peter smiled, it was probably just a matter of taking a souvenir. 

“You ready?” Peter through him his hat and the kid caught it. With a flick of his hand, it was on his head.

“I am now.”

He stepped down from the platform with the club on his shoulder. They walked inside.

“Neal…”

“Yeah?”

“Leave the golf club.”

Back in the car and all the way to the office they just enjoyed the taste of victory. Then it was paperwork. Walker refused to talk to them — no surprise there and it mattered little. They had enough proof without a confession. From his desk, Peter watched Neal over by his desk. It was just as good to get it over with.

He rose and walked to the door.

“Neal.” The kid’s head flew up and Peter made the finger point, indicating the kid to come. He returned to his desk and awaited Neal.

“Close the door,” he said as the kid came in. Neal did and sat down. Peter studied him and Neal returned the look. Why did it have to be so complicated?

“About that access card,” Peter began. “I warned you, you were not off the hook.” Neal’s eyes just went down to the desk, but he did not say anything. “I told you that you keeping that card was reason enough to put you back in prison.”

“But you said you wouldn’t,” Neal reminded him, and Peter nodded.

“I won’t, but what do you suggest instead?”

Neal stared at him in surprise.

“House arrest?” he suggested.

“That would be an option in normal cases,” Peter agreed. “But right now, you’re grieving Kate. Keeping you unoccupied is probably not the best move.” Neal just sent him glance with a hint of the vulnerable Neal Peter so much wanted to protect. “Neal, I am aware that it’s little I can do to keep you on the straight and narrow unless you want to. And you wanting to is a need for this partnership to work, do you agree to this?”

“Yes,” Neal nodded. “And I’m trying—” Peter held up his hand to stop him.

“What I meant it, I can’t think of any punishment that might stop you from doing the wrong things. Still, I can’t let things like this pass, because if it comes out that I knew about this card and did not reprimand you… And I’m not just talking about my carer now, Neal, I am talking about a situation where you might be innocent and you need me to protect you. If the Bureau has any suspicion that I tend to give you slack, the faith in me is ruined.”

“Peter, I know you would cuff me and put me back if needed.”

“Yes, but others need to know that, too, don’t you agree? You might think keeping that card as harmless, but it will be easy for any Agent with authority to see what you did, because we needed the card to get to the vault. It’s no secret, could never be.”

His young convict sighed across the table.

“And I guess an assurance that I won’t do it again isn’t enough?”

“No. It’s not.”

Neal’s eyes went down to his hands.

“So, what did you have in mind?”

“Your radius,” Peter said, pleased that he had found a way that sent a message and still made Neal busy. “For the next two weeks, you can move from your place and here, or to my home, but nowhere else without permission from me, you got that? We work as usual, but when you’re off duty, you stay at home.”

“Like a house arrest, but you keep me working?”

“Something like that, but you have routes you can walk and you can have the short guy over. And,” Peter added, “the team doesn’t need to know unless needed.”

Neal gave him one of those looks that he could not quite decipher. 

“Thanks, Peter.”

“My pleasure, kid. Now, enjoy today’s catch. I think Jones will arrange for some snacks and something to drink.”

The next day Peter returned to his Mozzie-meeting bench in Central Park. He sat down and opened the newspaper he had brought and stared at it, not really reading. He heard someone sitting down on the bench back to back with his.

“I saw a mockingbird in the park,” Mozzie said. “Then you say, ‘What color is the mockingbird?’”

“I'm doing the newspaper thing. I'm not doing the stupid bird thing.”

“How's he holding up?” Neal’s peculiar friend asked.

“Better,” Peter felt good to say. “I'm seeing the old Caffrey coming back.”

“Good.”

“Whatever part you played in it, you did good.”

“I'm sure you didn't call me down here to tell me how great I did.”

“Good,” Peter corrected.

“Great,” Mozzie insisted.

“You did good.”

“Great,” was returned yet again from the other bench and Peter wondered about the guy’s mental age.

“Look, I know he won't tell me everything,” Peter said and turned in his seat, wanting to see that man he was talking to, “I get that. He's Neal. I'll keep an eye on him. And you. But that puts me in a position to clean up a mess, not stop it before it happens.”

“Oh, that's the part you want me to take care of,” Mozzie got the picture and Peter could hear a tone of a sneer.

“Just tell me if he's gonna do anything stupid.”

“I can't rat out my friend.”

“It's to protect him.”

“That's the same rationale that was used by the Gestapo and the KGB.”

“Look at me,” Peter requested and Mozzie did turn. “He's my friend, too.”

Mozzie studied him, seemed for a second to see something else than an FBI agent.

“I'll take that under advisement.”

Peter guessed it would have to be enough.

“Yeah.” He left the newspaper and walked away.

Neal sat by his dining room table mulling over a case when there was a quick knock on the door and Mozzie came in without waiting.

“Moz...”

“We got to talk, mon frère.”

Neal was on his feet.

“What's up?”

“It's about the box,” Moz began. “Something strange is going on with the music box. The trail starts here. It was bagged after forensics held it for two hours in your New York office. Then OPR requested it to be transferred to D.C.”

“I knew they wouldn't let it sit still,” Neal said, excited.

“Somewhere between here and there,” Mozzie continued and pulled a photo out of a file, “this happened.”

Neal stared.

“That's not the box. I mean, it's got a similar shape and coloring, but...”

“It was swapped.”

He stared at Mozzie. A cold shiver went through his spine. Had all this been for nothing

“And the real box is in the wind?”

“Though we cannot change the direction of the wind,” Moz said, “we may adjust our sails.”

His friend was optimistic. Well, he was not about to give up now.

“Well, the question is...” Neal mumbled, looking at the photo. “Which way are we headed?”

Who had the box now?

Peter left his office and called Diana.

“Yeah?”

“Diana, you ready for Fowler's mystery meeting?”

“I'm on my way. I'm right behind you, boss.” Peter thought he heard her load a gun.

“See you there.”

For once Peter took the subway. Just in case someone kept tabs on his car. He nodded to Diana when he arrived but passed her without talking, placing himself at the other side of the place.

Then he waited. And waited. Without nothing happened. He called Diana.

“Anything?”

“Nothing,” she replied. “It's twenty after. You want to call it?”

“No, not yet. Fowler was willing to pull a gun on you to make sure we didn't know about this meeting. Whoever shows up,I'm betting they know why that plane exploded.”

“Boss.” It was something in her voice.

“Diana, you see him?”

“Yeah. Can't make a face.”

Peter glanced in her direction and saw a man who just came up the stairs. He pulled his ID and approached.

“Excuse me. FBI.”

For a second the figure seemed to consider his options. Then he turned and ran.

“Hold it right there!” Peter yelled as he started running himself. “He's headed around the stone arches! Cut him off!” he shouted to Diana. Before the man had reached the end of the arches Diana turned up, aiming her gun at the fleeing figure.

“FBI! Freeze!”

The man turned and continued to run, now with both Peter and Diana behind him. They got him out of their sight for a second and when they reached the spot Peter looked in every direction, gun ready, but there was no movement anywhere.

“He knows how to slip a tail.”

“Yeah, this guy's no civilian,” Peter concluded. It was a little too good moves for that. “All right, I want you to pull the tape from every surveillance camera in the area, plus our cameras, atm cameras, everything in this area.”

“Yeah,” Diana agreed.

“I want to know who this guy is.”


	12. Bad cop, good criminal

Neal arrived at the office with two cups of coffee, the good stuff, from the best place in town on the way to work. He saw Peter sitting in deep thought by his desk and walked inside.

"Good morning." When Peter lifted his head from his hand Neal saw that it was not 'deep thought' that had colored his handler's face. "You look exhausted." He placed one of the cups on Peter's desk.

"Oh, I don't sleep well when Elizabeth's out of town."

"Well, if her company keeps taking off the way it is," Neal said as he took off his hat and sat down where he has not supposed to sit, "you can retire early and become a house husband." Would not happen, but Neal was pleased that he seemed to have mended the destruction he had caused.

"Because when you look at me, you see soap operas and light housework?"

Neal noted a TV in the room.

"What are we watching?"

"Our new case," Peter said and turned on the TV. "Potentially corrupt politician." Neal stared at the footage. "You need a moment to recover?"

"I might, actually. Gary Jennings, state senator."

"You've heard of him?"

Neal sent his handler a glare. Just because he was no longer allowed to vote in the so-called democracy he lived in, it did not mean that he had lost all interest.

"I am politically aware. He's popular. Even Mozzie voted for him."

"Mozzie votes?"

Why would he not? Mozzie was not a convict. He probably did not use his real name but he was legally allowed to vote.

"More often than you'd think. Or would approve of."

He took the remote control from Peter and turned the sound on.

"Why did you get into politics, Mr. Jennings?" someone asked the innocent-looking smiling man.

"Well, you know, I didn't plan to. I wanted to be a carpenter."

"Jesus was a carpenter," Neal sighed.

"Yeah, he's subtle," Peter grinned.

"But then I realized that my talents were better suited," Jennings continued, "to helping build America's future with words and ideas rather than brick and mortar. That's where I find my inspiration."

Peter took the remote back and turned the TV off.

"Well, his assistant," he said and pointed to a man with his back to them out in the office, "thinks that he's illegally funneling money into his campaign."

"Don't tell Mozzie."

"We've had our eye on Jennings for a while. So far, nothing has stuck. But this could be our in. You want to join a political campaign?"

He saw that Peter figured him just right for the job. And he had a gut feeling that Peter was right.

"What do I have to do?"

"Let's figure that out."

Peter called for the man waiting in down in the office and they walked into the conference room.

"Dylan Ledding, right?" Peter asked as he showed the man to a seat. The man nodded. Neal sat down opposite, while Peter took the short side. "I'm Special Agent Peter Burke, and this is my consultant, Neal Caffrey."

"Pleased to meet you," Dylan said giving them a nervous smile.

"Can you tell us in your own words why you're here?"

"I was a true believer. I believed in Jennings," the young man began. "I still believe in what he stands for."

"What changed your mind?"

"Gary started having these mystery meetings. Right after, our campaign started getting an increasing number of donations. Gary started keeping two sets of books. I'm in charge of one. None of the regular staff sees the other one."

"What do you think is inside that book?"

Dylan sighed as if he made himself ready to plunge into cold water.

"I think he's set up a straw donor scam."

"It's an end run around campaign funding rules that limit donations from individuals," Peter told him.

"Oh, I know what it is," Neal returned. "Politicians were the original con men." And Mozzie had him study them. "Instead of cutting one big check to himself from a questionable source, Jennings gets a bunch of regular people to write him smaller checks, then he reimburses them under the table for their contributions."

"I think the second book has a list of the straw donors and the source of the illegal money," Dylan said.

"Well, who has access?" Neal wanted to know.

"His inner circle. Reggie, our head of opposition research, maybe a few others."

Peter sent Neal a look.

"We have to find a way to get you inside Jennings' inner circle."

Wow, this could be interesting.

It did not take many hours before the kid met him when he left his room.

“I got it,” Neal smiled. “Bad cop, good criminal.”

“No such thing,” Peter returned.

“Listen,” the kid continued without paying attention to Peter’s comment, “it's a variation on a con that I've...” His pet criminal stopped himself when he saw the warning in Peter’s eyes. “Thought about running before,” Neal said, “The bad guy, the cop, that's you, creates a problem for Jennings, and the good guy...”

“That's you?” he guessed.

“Right.”

“Oh!” Who would have thought that?

“I provide the solution.” The smile was wide and proud. Peter saw a problem though.

“Listen, if I make Jennings think that the FBI's onto him, it'll spook him. He'll burn his books.”

“Not if he thinks the Bureau's barking up the wrong tree. Here's an old loan scandal he was wrapped up in.”

Neal showed him a file. Peter sighed.

“Yeah, he walked away clean from that years ago.” He was pretty sure Jennings was not as clean as the judge had thought but it did not help much. Then he saw Neal’s face, that excitement in his eyes. And he got the picture. “But it might make him worried if he thinks that the digging around...”

“Could uncover whatever he's really doing,” the kid filled in. “And make him nervous enough to hire a fixer.”

This was one of the many reasons Neal Caffrey was such an asset to the Bureau.

“Who does he normally use to cover up his problems?” he wanted to know.

“Jennings' usual guy quit a few months ago,” Neal said. “Same time he started his mystery meetings.”

“This could work,” Peter mused.

“All we need's a bad cop.”

“I can do bad cop.”

“I've seen you do mildly irritated cop—” Peter sent the kid a glare that made him shut up at once. “Wow,” he breathed, impressed. 

Peter smiled at Neal’s awe.

“We got to clear this with Hughes first, though.” He sure did not want to make the same mistake as with that Judge Clark. He wanted a signature on a paper before using the name Peter Burke in something dirty.

He pulled Neal along and knocked on his boss’ door. An hour later and Peter walked into Jenning’s office. It was on the bottom floor with display windows like a store, as many people up for election. It was all about visibility.

Their inside man Dylan looked up from his desk right outside what he presumed was Jennings’ private office. He could hear voices from inside the box.

“God, I hate these glad-handing events.”

“You picked the wrong job if you don't want to shake hands.”

Peter smiled.

“I’m here to see senator Jennings,” he said to Dylan who bounced out of his chair and knocked on the door.

“What?”

Dylan opened the door.

“I'm sorry to interrupt, senator.”

“Dylan, I said no more appointments.”

Peter pushed himself passed Dylan. He held up his ID.

“Peter Burke, FBI.”

Dylan left and closed the door. Jennings made a nod and the man in the room, which Peter figured was Reggie, their head of opposition research, left the room too.

“Well, what can I do for you, Agent Burke?”

“I came to say thank you.”

“You're welcome,” Jennings smiled professionally. “What did I do?”

“Nothing yet,” Peter smiled back. “But I'm gonna make my career taking you down.”

The wide smile disappeared for a more polite one. He sat down at his desk.

“I'm sorry, um... Am I actually being accused of something?”

“The Mickelson loan scandal.”

“The FBI looked into that ‘scandal’ years ago. They found nothing. You really want to waste taxpayers' money with another witch hunt?”

Peter met Jennings’ confident smile with one of his own.

“I do. I know if I start kicking over rocks, something will crawl out. And when it does, it's gonna get your name, my name, and the word ‘scandal’ in the same headline.”

“And then you figure you can have any job you want.” It was a statement from someone who knew how things worked.

“Yeah. Maybe I'll take this office.”

“Why me?” It was not a pleading in the tone. It was more a question from someone playing the same game, asking a strategic question.

“Because I can tell you're dirty just by looking at you,” Peter replied, placing him on the ‘bad cop’ map. “So, I'll keep digging until I find something that'll bury you. You've got my word on that.”

He left the office and Jennings’ patronizing smile. Two blocks down he checked stepped into the van where Neal and a few agents sat, listening to the conversation.

“How'd I do?” he asked.

“Nice acting,” the kid said.

“Who said I was acting?” The only act was that he would never do a thing like that for his own career. He pulled out his phone as it rang. He looked at the display and answered.

“Dylan. Did it work?”

“Yep. Whatever you said, Jennings is freaked out. He called an immediate war room.”

Peter put the hand over the mic.

“He called a war room,” he said to Neal who grinned. “All right. Keep us posted,” he told Dylan and hung up. He turned to his ‘good criminal.’ “I'm the bad cop. Now it's your turn.”


	13. The new stadium

The next day Neal appeared in the doorway to his office, glanced around as if he was looking for something, and then did.

"Caffrey, that's my newspaper."

"Relax. I'll give it back."

He saw the kid browse through it.

"Touch my crossword, and I will put you back behind bars."

Neal paused and looked at Peter's favorite page.

"Oh, you do it in pen. I'm impressed." Peter enjoyed the praise and continued to work as his pet convict continue to browse. "I'm looking for inspiration, you know? And I think I just found it. What was the fallout from your meeting with Jennings?"

"Well, he called in some favors, tried to get me fired. Hughes is protecting me, which should frustrate Jennings even further."

"Excellent."

So far everything has worked as planned.

"According to Dylan, he's looking for a new fixer as we speak."

"I didn't doubt you for a second," Neal beamed.

Peter rose from his chair.

"Dylan put your name on the list, but Jennings is still looking at other people, too. So, we need to make sure you get that job."

"Well, I don't have an alias with this type of background."

"Hmm. You're about to get one..." Peter said and continued towards the conference room. "Courtesy of the FBI."

Neal followed, still with Peter's newspaper in his hand, he noted.

"What do you guys need to know about creating a background?" the kid asked the team working in the room.

"Nothing. We're the FBI," Diana answered. "You're good, but we're better." She pointed at a book. "You're now Benjamin Cooper."

"Wow, high school yearbook?" The kid picked it up. "You're definitely thorough."

"They're thorough. Jennings doesn't mess around with this stuff," Peter said. "That means no anklet when you're with him."

Peter watched for that little hint of extra excitement in his eyes but did not find it.

"Yeah," was all he said. "Nice Photoshop work." He had found the photo of him as a high school student. Since they did not have a wit about his childhood, even less a photo, they had used software they got to see what he might have looked like as young and used the result. Neal watched the page of the valedictorian of the year, which of course was Benjamin Cooper.

"We'll add the yearbook to the school's archive in case they check," Diana said.

"I finally get to be valedictorian," Neal said.

Peter blinked.

"You weren't valedictorian?" As skilled as he was, Neal must have had grades high enough, and charm and easy to speak to that.

"You have to graduate for that."

So the best con-man in the world had not finished high school? Peter studied Neal. What had this kid been through? So bright, he could have been anything he wanted. Yet he did not have a high school degree. Did he even start high school?

"We're giving you a 4.0 from Harvard law," Diana continued with the studies.

"Harvard is so pedestrian," the kid complained.

"Don't let Jones hear you say that."

Peter and Diana shared a grin.

"After graduating," Peter said and picked up a piece of paper, "you did a stint at the firm Brexton and Miller in Delaware."

"Very exclusive and Grisham-esque." Their consultant glanced at the resume, then turned their eyes to them. "This is perfect."

Like a kid at Christmas. Oddly enough, Peter felt like a father just giving his kid a present. Sadly enough it had to be a gift he had to keep an eye on.

Neal suddenly remembered something. He picked up the newspaper he had put down on the table.

"Here. I promised I returned it to you, didn't I?"

Pity. It would have been nice to chase him for something little at least.

The interview was to take place inside a restaurant. Neal walked inside with his usual confident steps. He had selected his clothes with care, as usual. He had to look educated, but not look like a stiff lawyer. The man needed a fixer. So bending the rules of dress code and still make it look like he was the one who knew how to dress.

He located Jennings and another man at a table and approached.

“Benjamin Cooper?” Jennings asked.

“That would be me.”

The politician held out his hand and Neal shook it.

“Pleasure to meet you.” He gestured at the other man. “This is Reggie Mayfield, head of opposition research.”

“Benjamin,” Reggie greeted him as they shook hands.

Neal sat down and a waiter appeared with a cup of coffee.

“Oh, thank you so much.” Perfect timing. He stretched out his hand for a package of sugar and dropped a microphone among the remaining. ”Well, if you've called me,” he said taking the lead of the conversation, “that means you've got a problem on your hands, right?”

He beamed at them as he poured the sugar in his coffee, making it impossible to drink with any pleasure.

“We've got a fed on steroids who's going after Gary on the Mickelson—” Reggie Mayfield began but Neal interrupted.

“Details don't matter.”

“Oh, I think they do,” Jennings pointed out. “This FBI agent—”

“Don't worry about the agent,” Neal interrupted again. Now he better do this right, with this rude start. “Your constituents aren't going to care about him.”

“Why won't they?”

“Because they'll be far more concerned with your position on the new stadium.” The article he had found in Peter’s newspaper was about a local group fighting for a new park. There was no stadium.

“What new stadium?” Jenkins asked after exchanging a look of skepticism with his Head of Opposition Research

“That's exactly what you're gonna say, ‘What new stadium?’ And when the reporter asks what you're talking about, deny you're in any way involved with the talks to build it.”

“There isn't going to be a new stadium.”

“Now you're getting it,” Neal beamed. He still had not got to the best part. He hoped to get there before they gave up on him.

“Look... If there were a new stadium being built, which there isn't, why would I oppose it?”

“Oh, you don't oppose it.”

“I don't?”

“Of course not. You just don't want them building a stadium in that particular location because that's where you want them to build the new children's park.” The two other men looked at him, not sure what to make out of him. Perfect. “May I, uh...?” He pointed at the newspaper on the table.

“Yeah.”

He showed them the same article that had inspired him that very morning.

“There we go.”

Jennings understood the game Neal was showing him. Reggie was in doubt.

“We're talking to several people about this job—” he began but Reggie stopped him with a gesture.

“Go on.”

Neal wondered if Peter and Jones had any idea what happened. Did they see it for what it was: a giant distraction.

“Who's gonna care about an old loan scandal of yours when you're fighting against the system? Against the corporate fat cats who think overpaid athletes are more important than our city's children?”

“But the story won't hold up,” Jennings said, smiling, testing him.

“Oh, you've got less than a month before the election. It doesn't have to hold up. We just have to distract. Right?” He got looks in response. “You've got a problem. I'm your solution, senator. Have a great day.”

He rose and left.

In the van, he met the grinning faces of Peter and Jones.

“Jennings likes you,” Jones reported.

“He canceled the other interviews,” Peter said.

They returned to the office. When the kid sat down by his desk he gestured for him to follow him to his room. Peter closed the door sat down. Neal opened the door with a:

“You got it.”

The kid closed the door behind him.

“Hey, do you have a—”

His pet convict hushed him. The kid was on the phone.

“All right. First thing tomorrow. Bye.” He ended the call and closed the phone.

“You don't get to shush me,” Peter reprimanded him.

“Oh, okay. Next time I'll let Jennings hear your voice in the background.” He put the phone away and sat down on one of the visitor’s chairs.

“You're hired?” Peter asked.

“Like I said, bad cop, good cop.”

“Good criminal,” he corrected with a grin.

“Consultant.”

“Mm. So, the stadium thing worked, huh?”

“In today's world, rumor is truth.”

“But you told him to deny that there were any talks.”

“Exactly. Which means there must be talks.”

“This is why I hate politics.”

Neal rose and walked to leave, but turned by the door.

“Oh, Elizabeth's still out of town, right? You want to grab a drink?”

“Can't,” Peter said at once and suddenly knew he had to come up with another reason than the real one. “I owe Captain Shattuck a favor. Gonna help the local PD with a stakeout. Surveillance and deviled ham till 4:00 a.m. You want to join us?”

“No, I'll pass. Thank you, though.”

“All right.”

Peter watched the kid return to his desk. Not only had Neal checked if he was alone and wanted company, but he had also been served a lie as a thank you for that kindness. He owed Captain Shattuck a favor, but it was not being paid this night.

At home, he grabbed a bottle of beer, kicked off his shoes, and flung his feet up on the coffee table.

“Don't tell Elizabeth,” he said to Satchmo.

There was a knock on the door and he got to his feet. Diana was waiting outside.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

He let her in.

“Oh, it's just you and Satchmo tonight?”

“Yeah, just the dog and me.”

Diana pulled her jacket off.

“Elizabeth's still in San Francisco?”

“She is. Can I get you a beer?”

“Sure.”

“All right.” Peter got one from the kitchen, uncorked it, and handed it to Diana. “So, how was your dinner with Christie?” There was a snort in return. “Oh. She still having a tough time adjusting to New York?”

“We'll get through it,” Diana replied with confidence.

“Yeah, you will. You will. All right. Any luck putting a face on our mystery man?”

They walked to the dining room table.

“He was good,” she said. “He avoided our cameras and the surveillance cameras on the street.” Diana unpacked a file from her purse. How did it fit into that? It was a big purse, but a whole file? Well…

“Just bits and pieces of a face,” he noted when he browsed through the photos.

“Well, put the pieces together... And we get this!” She placed an image before him.

“Ha. I think I saw this guy in a horror movie.”

An eye, an ear, a silhouette of a chin put together.

“Our patchwork man. I'm running it through the facial-recognition database, discreetly. We'll see what we can get.”

“What about the location of the music box? Anybody poking around?”

“A couple of feelers,” Diana returned, “but no one knows where it is.”

“Except you.”

“Just like you asked, Boss. Are you sure you don't want to know where I'm keeping it?”

“No, it's safer for the both of us if I don't. This guy knows something. Let's find him.”

“And Caffrey? You're sure you want to keep all this from him?”

“Neal's still recovering from Kate's death. I don't want to reopen that wound with any sort of false hope. Once we have something concrete, then I'll tell Neal.” Peter sighed. He had lied to Neal because of this meeting, to make sure he knew nothing about the little they had. “Diana, I hate sneaking around like this. We're supposed to be the good guys.

“Hey. We are the good guys.”

Yeah, they were. He watched the patchwork man.

“Boy, this guy's a professional. If we're looking for him...” he watched the windows, “there is a fair chance he's looking for us.” He pulled the curtains down. Too late really, but now when he came to think of it, he could not leave them up.


	14. Cinnamon

Early the next morning Neal walked into Jennings office. It was deserted except for Dylan, which was perfect.

"Morning, Dylan." Neal stopped by his desk, which was the first you met.

"Jennings isn't in yet."

"Good. I need some time in his office." Neal continued to the room in the room that Peter told him about. He had forgotten to tell him that it had a whole wall of glass though, so Jennings could see anyone coming and going.

"Well, the, uh... the door's locked," Dylan said, getting to his feet following him, "and Jennings and Reggie are the only ones with keys. But they'll be here any minute." The young idealist said it as if Jennings would just let him inside to snoop around if he just waited. Neal took out his lock pick set.

"So distract them," Neal said. "Can you do that?"

Dylan lingered on the answer. Which was answer enough. The lock was easy.

"I'm a terrible liar."

"Good. We need more terrible liars in politics." Neal snuck inside leaving Dylan outside of his comfort zone. He took the file cabinets first because they were in full display from the window. They were unlocked, all the drawers. What he was looking for would be inside something locked. He continued with the drawer behind the desk. Then he turned to the desk. There at last he found a locked drawer.

He sat down on his heels to pick the lock. A knock on the window from Dylan told him that Jennings and Reggie were on their way in. He opened the drawer.

"Senator," he heard their inside man say. "You're in early. Senator, I wanted to go over next week's schedule with you."

Neal grabbed the one thing that could be something and hid behind the desk. It was a matchbook. He had not seen Jennings smoke, nor had he smelled like he did. He took a photo of the cover and sent it to Peter.

He opened it. All matches were there. It could be just a commercial item, but something was written inside with pen: "CiNNaMon212".

He pushed the matchbook back in the drawer and locked it. A quick glance out and he pulled the chair back in its original spot and with a few hunching steps, he was out through the other door.

There he took a deep breath, pulled a hand through his hair, and turned Benjamin Cooper on.

"Morning, senator," he greeted Jennings as he rounded the corner.

"Oh, nice and early. Good start already."

They shook hands.

"I was gonna go grab a smoke before we jump in. Do you have a light?"

"Smoking makes you look weak," he disapproved.

"I'll remember that." Jennings moved to his office but Neal caught up with him. "Oh, uh... We should discuss my fee. You know, I was hoping we could do it off the books."

"I'm sure we can come to an arrangement."

So the politician had at least pasted that threshold.

"How's your first day of work?" Peter asked when he called him.

"I've taken up smoking." How could drawing smoke in your lungs feel good at any time?

"Politics is already corrupting you."

"Yeah. You get the picture I sent?"

"Yeah. The symbol's the flower of Aphrodite. We ran it through the ACS database and came up with two coffee shops, a bakery, a winery, and a high-class escort service."

Neal grinned.

"Politicians and hookers, that one's as old as time. Listen, there was a word written inside the matchbook. Cinnamon two one two. All caps except the vowels."

"Got it. Any luck convincing Jennings to pay you off the books?"

"Yeah, yeah. He made a call to get the money. I put an ear to the door. He called the man on the end of the line 'darrow' or 'narrow.'"

"All right, break's over. Get back to work."

"Politicians and hookers, that one's as old as time. Listen," the kid continued, "there was a word written inside the matchbook. Cinnamon two one two. All caps except the vowels."

Peter wrote it down.

"Got it. Any luck convincing Jennings to pay you off the books?"

"Yeah, yeah. He made a call to get the money. I put an ear to the door. He called the man on the end of the line 'darrow' or 'narrow.'"

Peter wrote that down too.

"All right, break's over. Get back to work."

He had the web page for the escort service up on the screen of his laptop. It was nothing except for the same image that Neal sent him. And a field for a password. He decided to try with the cinnamon-thing Neal found. He got to the M when the phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Hey, sweetie!"

"Oh, hey, El. How's San Francisco?

He jammed the phone to his ear by his shoulder so he could keep both hands on his keyboard.

"It's amazing here. I biked across the bay this morning to watch the sunrise."

"How was the sunrise?" He entered the last figures.

"It reminded me of Belize. Which makes me miss you even more. You got any big plans for tonight?"

"Nope. Just catching up on some work." He pressed enter and the symmetrical flower disappeared and was replaced by images of women with very little clothes on.

"Are you looking for high-class female companionship?" a seductive female voice asked.

"Uh, what kind of work is that?" El asked.

"Oh, it's not what it sounds like." You were supposed to be able to turn the sound off. Which key? Not those he tried at least.

"Our discreet service gives you a chance to spend a day with the girl of your dreams."

"Or that," Peter sighed.

"We will introduce you to fashion models, pageant winners, beau—" Peter gave up and closed the lid of the laptop.

"Oh, I can't wait to hear this explanation," El said. He could hear the smile in her voice, but he was too embarrassed to see the funny.

"Research, I swear."

Neal had to admit to himself that he just loved to be in a meeting with a real senator, and using his considerable skills to manipulate Jennings. It was an unexpected power.

"All right, has the press picked up on the stadium story?" he asked the assembled.

"A couple of reporters have asked about it," a woman answered.

"And we denied it?"

"Of course."

"Good. Make sure to specify that he did not meet with the zoning committee."

"He didn't meet with the committee," she returned.

"Exactly. Back-date a meeting in his books showing it was scheduled and leak it. We'll say he canceled."

"But why?" she asked and turned to Jennings who so far had just listened. "This doesn't make sense."

"Of course it does," Neal said before the senator had a chance. "Jennings is a Maverick. That's why the FBI is digging into his past. He's upsetting all the right people."

"But there is no stadium project," she pointed out. "We can't create one out of thin air."

"Don't be so cynical," he returned, knowing he sounded way too patronizing to be comfortable. "That is exactly what we're going to do. These people want a park. That's why we're going to deny that Jennings has met with a couple of big corporations-"

"Which corporations?" She was not a woman who lay flat on the floor when barked at. Good for her.

"Doesn't matter. Pull their names out of a hat." She did not like that reply and probably despised him. He sure wished she continued to work with politics. "We're going to deny that Gary has met with them about forcing a bond measure that would turn the park into a new stadium. The more we deny there's smoke, the more the press will see fire."

She was about to object again when Jennings stopped her with a gesture.

"Listen to him."

She seemed tempted to continue but did not.

Reggie came in. Jennings sent him a glance and then addressed the room.

"Let's take a 15-minute break, everyone." People rose from their seats. Neal could not presume that he was welcome so he moved to leave. "Benjamin," Jennings called. "You stay."

He smiled and sat down. The three of them got the room for themselves.

"What's going on?" he asked.

Reggie threw him a brown envelope.

"We may have found a solution to our problem with our FBI agent," he said and Neal fought to keep his body language under control. He opened the envelope and pulled out some photos. "That's not Mrs. Burke," Reggie added.

No, it was not. It was Peter and Diana, at Burke's home.

"When were these taken?"

"Last night."

Was that so. And Peter had said that he was going to a stakeout. Instead, he was having a beer with Diana. Why had he not said so? But this was not the right time to feel betrayed and jump to conclusions.

"If Burke's having an affair, we can use that," Jennings said. "Do we know who the girl is yet?"

"Not yet. I'll find out."

Neal's mind was working fast. This could blow up in their faces.

"Well, I know who she is," he said. "She's a prostitute." Poor Diana.

Jennings gave him a look as if he expected Neal to have first-hand experience. Neal decided that he did not want to go down that path.

"How do you figure?" Reggie asked, with another attitude.

"This Burke is an FBI guy. He's a control freak. He's not gonna have an affair. It's too sloppy."

"He may be right," Jennings said to Reggie. The most important thing right now was to keep them from investigating who the woman was.

"We can use her. These pictures aren't enough to take Burke out. But if we can get her to meet with him again and she's under our thumb..." Was that escort service anything else than Jennings' secret hideout? The two men exchanged a look and Jennings gave the older man a nod.

"We might have someone who can help us with that."


	15. Lie for a Living

Neal walked from the politician meeting to the office of the Bureau. He felt pleased with himself. With a bit of luck and they would find a connection between the escort service he had gained information about and Jennings that would be more than just morally questionable.

"So how did it go?" Peter asked when he walked into the office.

"Good. There is a connection to the Aphrodite escort service. I made Reggie arrange with Diana to meet with the owner."

"Diana?"

"It seemed plausible. They already knew she wasn't Mrs. Burke." He dropped the photos Reggie's man had taken in front of Peter. His handler took the pile.

"You told them Diana was a hooker?"

"Mm-hmm," Neal confirmed. Peter glanced at the photos and then up at him. "Captain Shattuck sure cleans up nice." He was not angry with Peter, but he was hurt. And this was not one of those moments when he wanted to hide it. Not of Peter had deliberately lied to him.

"The stakeout was canceled," Peter defended himself when he saw his look. "Diana came over to work. Why am I explaining myself to you? Not everything's a conspiracy, Neal."

"I hope that's true," Neal snapped back, not believing for a second that Peter told him the truth. Not when he used the word 'conspiracy' unasked for. "I've _never_ lied to you."

"Oh, come on, Neal," Peter objected. "You lie for a liv-."

" _Not_ to you," he interrupted. "I may have let you draw certain conclusions that weren't correct, but _never_ an actual lie."

He smiled when he saw Peter getting embarrassed. Yes, he knew Peter could not say the same. The honorable federal agent did lie from time to time, while his pet convict did not. That was irony.

Peter stared at the photos the kid dropped at his desk.

“You told them Diana was a hooker?!” That meant that some people thought that he and Diana… and that he would pay… 

“Mm-hmm,” It was something in Neal’s tone of that confirmation that made Peter look up. The kid was still standing and he was watching him with a stern eye. “Captain Shattuck sure cleans up nice.”

Oh, yes, he had said he could not go out with Neal for a drink because…

“The stakeout was canceled! Diana came over to work.” Did the damn kid smile? They both knew it was not that kind of work. “Why am I explaining myself to you? Not everything is a conspiracy, Neal.”

“I hope that's true.” Neal’s voice was sharp as the edge of a knife. Well, it was true, Peter thought. He was not conspiring, he was protecting Neal. Then Neal said with clarity: “I've _never_ lied to you.”

Peter glanced up, surprised at the hidden accusation.

“Oh, come on, Neal,” Peter protested. “You lie for a living.”

“ _Not_ to you,” the kid shot back. “I may have let you draw certain conclusions that weren't correct, but _never_ an actual lie.”

Peter felt his cheeks getting hot. He knew it was true. Neal did not lie to him. And a convicted criminal and world-class con-man had just caught him lying in return to that honesty. It would have been so much easier if the kid pulled one or two white lies from time to time. Neal did not say a word. He watched the office through the glass wall.

Peter wondered if it was time to tell Neal about the meeting with their mystery man, to be more open to him. He decided against it.

“All right, so, one of Jennings' guys was standing in my backyard taking these?” he said, returning to the case at hand. So very covenant that he had pulled the shades just after.

“Yep. You got to them,” Neal said, still not sitting down. “They think you're having an affair. Took a risk and told them Diana was a prostitute, and they took the bait. They told me to find her and put her in touch with a guy they know named Barrow.”

“Ah, your mystery man Jennings called to get you paid off the books.” Peter leaned back in his chair. “So, maybe the Aphrodite escort service is where the cash is coming from to pay his straw donors.”

“That's what I think,” the kid agreed. “Can you set Diana up with an alias as good as mine?”

“As an escort? Sure.” He rose from his chair. “Diana! Can you come here a minute?” He saw her rise and come. “You gonna tell her?” he asked Neal. 

“I'm not telling her,” he hissed back.

“You're the one who made her a hooker,” Peter pointed out.

“You're the one who's sleeping with her.”

“You got a point.”

No more time. Diana stood in the doorway.

“Yeah?”

“Neal told Jennings you're a hooker. You and I are having an affair. You're gonna go meet with an escort service.”

“Okay. Anything else?”

“No.” 

She left and Peter exhaled. He just loved Diana!

“It's good to have her back,” Neal said and sounded more than impressed. They returned to the desk. “I suppose you want this back.” Peter saw he held the Eagle pen. Peter hesitated. Neal had done well and he had not had that eagerness in his eyes when they took off the anklet. “I prefer not to bring a microphone home with me, if you don’t mind.”

Peter smiled. He had not thought about it that way. He took the pen.

“Want a night without the anklet? You did a good job today. I can arrange for a car outside instead.”

He got an odd stare in return.

“No, thank you. Not this time. Save the taxpayers money.”

“What?” Peter had rarely been as baffled in his life.

“Just being honest, Peter. Besides, I’m still under that working house arrest thing you put on me. Wouldn’t it look strange in the records?”

Peter gave up. He handed Neal the anklet and the kid put it on, showing him the green light. He pulled the leg of the slacks over it and left.

Neal was pretty certain Diana knew about the music box. She had been out there on the airstrip when Peter came to stop him and he had also told him later about their meeting with Fowler that led them there. So Diana and Peter meeting after hours, and lying to him about it… Had Peter tried to ease the burden of a bad consciousness by offering him a night off anklet? Just in case Neal’s hunch was right, he had denied.

“Did you confront the Suit about the pictures?” Mozzie asked after listening to Neal’s long monologue. 

“Yeah, I did. He said it was a misunderstanding.” Neal passed his friend again, who had pulled out a small desk and was sitting with a whole kit of advanced writing material that appeared to be of Asian origin, writing while they talked.

“Oh, right. So was the Bay of Pigs. So you think he's looking into who killed Kate in his off hours? I suppose that's a good thing.”

It was. He flipped the apple in his hand.

“I want to know what he's found.”

“He's trying to protect you,” Mozzie said with certainty.

“Oh, come on, Moz. I don't need protecting.”

“It's only fair. We keep secrets from the Suits all the time. Now they have their own,” he said, and then mused: “There's a certain universal synchronicity to it all.”

“Spare me your ‘circle of life’ crap,” Neal said a bit annoyed over the lack of support. “What are you writing?”

“Oh, it's a letter campaign to stop this new stadium from being built.”

Neal stared. Had he heard that right?

“There's a letter campaign?”

“You really need to pay more attention to what's going on in the world around you,” his friend lectured him. Neal had to fight to not grin all over his face.

“Yeah… Listen, Moz, you should know that…” he began but changed his mind when he got a big glare from Mozzie, who at once was ready to take a stand for what he believed in. “That you got a real shot at stopping this. Keep it up.”


	16. Scavenger hunt

It was crowded in the van. At least that was what it felt like when Peter sat there with someone with the energy of a squirrel and not without a hint of claustrophobia. There were only chairs for two and while he had taken one Jones had the other as second in command. Neal had taken the liberty to sit on the table behind them while a fourth guy remained standing.

"It is really exciting in the van," the kid said to their backs. "It's..."

Peter listened to the sound in his headset from Diana who right now walked into the eagle's nest posing as a prostitute. His thoughts wandered to when he and Jones had sat the same way waiting for Caffrey with four agents padded with body armor. It had probably been crowded and hot, but Peter had not taken note of it. He had been too excited. Now he was mostly worried.

"Can I just go in there and—" his pet convict got started again.

"You'll sit there, and you'll like it," Peter snapped back. "Now pay attention!"

"You must be Lana," was heard through the headset. "Roger Barrow. A friend of mine suggested that you and I could do some business."

"What kind of business?" Diana asked.

"That's our guy," Peter told the others.

""What do we know about Barrow?" the kids said, now listening too.

"Arrested three times, all in Chicago. Aggravated assault, extortion. Last one was for attempted murder." Jones handed a file back to Neal.

"'Attempted'." Neal took the file. "At least we know he's not very good at it."

"Well, his target was shot dead in a mugging two weeks later," Jones pointed out.

"Okay, maybe he is good at it."

Peter shared a grin with Jones.

"I want to know about your FBI friend," Barrow said. "What do you want?"

"Here we go," Peter mumbled.

"What do you think?" Diana replied.

"Money? Look around. My girls make 10k a night. The richest men in New York come here. You want to work for me, you'll make in a week what you normally make in a year."

"I'd like that."

"Here's the thing. I need to know that I can trust you. And I need to make sure that you know what you're doing. This is for the penthouse suite. Pick any guy at the bar. I want his ten grand in my hand by four a.m."

Peter felt his pulse rise. This was trouble.

"Ten thousand in cash," he heard Diana's smiling voice. Then there was a pause and they heard her heels click as she told them. "Guys? I was not prepared for an audition. I'm either walking out of here or taking some guy up to the penthouse."

"So, what's the plan?" Jones asked

Peter pulled his headset off and turned to Neal. Only to find his spot empty.

"Where'd Caffrey go?"

Neal was glad he had a good taste in suits and men’s fashion and was let in without trouble. He walked up to the bar and saw Diana strolling, keeping an eye at the guys at the bar. She had not seen him, so he stepped right into her field of vision.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

Diana returned the smile. She kept up the appearance and was did not for a second let anybody know that she knew him. He sat down by the bar and ordered drinks for both of them. 

“You sure you can afford me?” she said, pulling a finger along his jaw.

“I'm pretty good at scrounging up loose change,” Neal assured her. He knew Diana needed ten grand in three hours. Both knew that the FBI was not a piece of fast-working machinery when it came to hand out money.

“Prove it.”

Neal rose, put a hand on her back and mumbled close to the microphone, unfortunately, placed by her ear and not by her bosom. 

“Peter, if you're wondering where to get ten grand, meet our mutual friend at my place.” He had texted Mozzie already on his way in. He smiled at Diana. All they needed to do now was wait and soon move to the penthouse. “About that drink...”

“You sure Barrow won't recognize you?” she asked, smiling as she was interested, but she did not sit down.

“Jennings keeps him far away from the campaign,” Neal assured him.

“I don't blame him.”

“You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you weren't attracted to me at all.” It was not only to tease her. They had an appearance to think about. She gave him a coy grin, considering. Then she pulled a hand fondly through his hair and pulled herself close by his tie. Then she sank down on his lap, hot and gorgeous.

“How's that?”

“Not bad,” Neal said, shocked that she could stir so much in his body. “Is this doing anything for you?”

“Not a damn thing,” she grinned at him. She could not have missed what she did with him and he smiled, embarrassed. That he would be seduced by Diana was something he had not been prepared for.

“What were you gonna do if I hadn't come in?”

“Well...” she considered and picked a strawberry from a bowl on the bar, “I'd have put this strawberry in that guy's mouth...” she did put it in his and Neal had to take a deep breath to keep his emotions under control. “Taken him up to my room... Put a gun between his ribs... And told him to shut up and sit tight or I'd arrest him for solicitation.”

“That is really sexy.”

“Yeah.” They looked at each other, both enjoying themselves but for different reasons. “I’m glad you showed up though.”

“Me too. How about that penthouse?”

She rose, took his hand, and guided him upstairs as she mumbled:

“Guys, don’t get any ideas, but I’m turning this mike off now. Just get that money here.” She pulled the microphone out and dropped it into her purse.

“You ever take a bath in champagne?” Neal asked as they passed the door to the room, with his nose in her hair. As soon as the door shut she left his arms and stopped giggling.

“Okay.”

Neal looked around.

“Wow.” It was classy. He picked up the phone and swung down in a comfortable armchair. “Room service.” He saw Diana staring. He covered the mic on the phone. “What? I'm keeping up appearances. I'm supposed to be a big spender, remember?”

“Caffrey, this isn't what we're here for.”

“Look, our cover is that we're enjoying ourselves. I'd say this is exactly what we're here for.” He returned to the phone but Diana did not seem convinced. “What, so, that's a no to the champagne bath, or...?”

“A little over the top, don’t you think?”

“Hungry, then?” Neal guessed she was by her expression. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said on the phone, “we would like a box of your best chocolate. No, make it two.”

Peter was on his feet. It was a good move from Neal, but the kid had no cash to pay with. At least he assumed so.

“Alright, let's make the best of this. We have three hours. If we can get ten thousand, we can follow the money trail, see if it leads back to Jennings.”

“But, Peter,” Jones protested. “We can't get a cash request out of the Bureau that fast.”

“I know.” He sat down and put the headset back, hoping for Neal to give him a clue.

“You sure you can afford me?” he heard Diana say.

“I'm pretty good at scrounging up loose change.”

“Prove it.”

Then he heard Neal whisper so close to the microphone that they heard him breathing. Peter hoped Diana would not be too pissed and claim sexual harassment. 

“Peter, if you're wondering where to get ten thousand dollars, meet our mutual friend at my place.”

“I was afraid he was gonna say that,” Peter sighed. Mozzie. Why did it always have to include Mozzie? “Alright, I’d better get going.”

Peter rose, got to his car, and drove over to Neal’s place. He ran up the stairs, passed the door, and was met by Mozzie sitting by the table. He hoped that the kid had prepared the guy.

“Hi, did Neal contact you?”

“Yes, Suit, he has. Sit down, catch your breath.”

“We’re sort in a hurry,” Peter said but sat down.

Mozzie looked at him across the table, drumming his fingers on its surface.

“So, what needs bring you to take such desperate measures to contact your convicted felon’s friend?”

“We need ten thousand dollars. Fast.”

Neal’s friend was not one to be rushed or controlled. Peter tried to be patient and stand the stare from the man who studied him in silence, still drumming his fingers on its surface.

“You've come to the right place,” the guy sad at last.

“Cut the crap, Mozzie,” Peter barked back, “Can you get us the ten grand or not?”

“Yes. But first, some ground rules,” Mozzie began. “I want full immunity about anything you may see or hear tonight.”

Peter did not want to take any risks but as long as Mozzie was just Mozzie and did not kill somebody or stole the Mona Lisa in front of his eyes, he did not care.

“Let's just say I'll owe you one.”

Mozzie considered for a terribly long time.

“I accept your counteroffer. I need your shoelace.”

“My shoelaces are gonna get us the ten thousand dollars?” Peter asked, wanting to get going and not playing games.

“Rule number two... No further questions,” he got in return. The fellow rose and held out his hand, waiting for the shoelace. Peter lifted his foot and started to untie it.

“I'm doing this more out of a morbid curiosity than anything else.”

Mozzie took the shoelace.

“I'll also need a magnet and a Sports Illustrated.”

“This is a scavenger hunt now?” Peter asked as the annoying little man left towards Neal’s bedroom with his shoelace.

“I refer you to rule number two.”

Peter glanced around for a magnet and saw several on the fridge. He grabbed one of them. Then he moved to the coffee table.

“No Sports Illustrated. I've got the New York Journal Magazine supplement.”

“That'll do, pig,” Mozzie answered. “That'll do.” He had unscrewed the light switch and it was now hanging in its wires. He took the magnet from Peter.

“Oh, I also need a twenty-dollar bill.”

Peter glared at him but Mozzie just tied the shoelace to the magnet without giving Peter a second glance. Peter jammed the magazine under his arm and pulled out his cash taking a twenty from it.

“Great. Thanks.”

Baffled, Peter saw Mozzie lowering the magnet on the string in the hole in the wall and then pulled up a key, stuck to the magnet.

“Just a key? Yes. Another piece of the puzzle.” Mozzie took care of the key. “And don't forget a hammer, a crowbar, and a radio.”

“Scavenger hunt,” Peter pointed out again, absolutely sure this time.

“’Life is more manageable when thought of as a scavenger hunt as opposed to a surprise party,” Mozzie quoted. Peter realized why the guy had called him ‘pig’.

“Jimmy Buffett.”

“You're driving.”

“Where do I find a hammer, a crowbar, and a radio?”

“We ask June on the way down.”

They drove to a storage building and went inside, Peter carrying the bag with the tools.

“We're looking for unit R39,” Mozzie said and started to walk down the aisle. “Radio, please.”

“Why?” Peter sighed when Mozzie just stopped. “Yeah, yeah. Rule number two.” He dug in the bag and gave it to him. Mozzie placed it on top of to boxes and turned it on. A classical piece on piano floated out and if Peter had not been so stressed and frustrated he would have known right away which tune it was. His companion stood with closed eyes and listened to Debussy’s Clair de Lune. Then he snapped out of it and continued down the aisle again.

“So, why are we doing this?” he asked.

“We need the money to take down a corrupt politician,” Peter said.

“Oh, I hope it's that guy who's running against Jennings.” Mozzie was quick to pick up Peter’s sigh and look. He wished he had a better poker face. “It _is_ Jennings? Oh, forget it! He's the only one fighting against the stadium.”

“There is no stadium,” Peter told him.

“Exactly! Because of Gary Jennings! Those children need a place to play!”

There was no use to convince Mozzie and there was no time.

“All right, listen. Listen to me. If he is innocent—”

“Which he is!”

—Then this won't matter.” It was the truth and Mozzie knew it.

“Fine,” he gave in. “Just note that I'm assisting under extreme duress.”

“Noted,” Peter confirmed. “Here it is.” He pointed at a large wooden crate.

“Oh, it's actually behind R39.”

Peter stared. The crate was surrounded by other crates, it was even a row on top of the first row.

“How are we supposed to get behind that?!”

Mozzie held up a finger and Peter wondered if it was time for rule number three or a reminder of the other two. Then he heard a new voice and a man rounded a corner behind them.

“What's all this noise? I'm over on six, doing my rounds, I could hear this crap from all the way over there.” A cranky man not in fan of Debussy.

“All apologies, Eddie,” Mozzie said.

“Mr. C?” Eddie asked.

“Yeah.”

“Hey, how the hell are you?”

“Good.”

“How's Mr. F?”

“Good. Listen, uh, Eddie... I need a little favor.”

And Peter saw his twenty switch hands. Ten minutes later the R39 crate and the one on top of it was backed out by a forklift run by Eddie.

“Mr. C and Mr. F?” Peter asked. Were that Mozzie and Neal? Yet another name to put on the alias list.

“Oh, there's a long, strange story attached to that.”

“I'm sure. Now what?”

“New York Journal Magazine.”

Peter picked it from the bag and handed it to Mozzie who gave it back to him.

“What do I do with this?”

“Stay here and read it. ‘There are many things of which a wise man might wish to be ignorant.’”

“Emerson.”

“Very good.”

“’All of your quotes are getting on my nerves.’ Peter Burke.”

Mozzie grabbed the bag and hurried in between the crates. Peter glanced at Eddie who just made a gesture as if there was not much to do. At least there was an old office chair to sit in.


	17. Stickball

Neal lay on the bed in a bathrobe. It had not been champagne, but the bathroom was exclusive enough as it was. Diana exited the same bathroom, her too after a bath, now in the same white hotel robe. She lay down beside Neal. He rolled over on his side watching her.

"Well?" Neal asked.

"Okay. You're right. It doesn't hurt to relax a bit." She tried to sound stern but he was sure he enjoyed a jacuzzi extra much during working hours. He rolled over on his back.

"I wonder how many rooms like this I've stayed in." If you were able to con your way into a hotel, only the best rooms were good enough.

Diana rolled over to her side and leaned her head in her hand.

"Want to know a hotel-room secret?"

"I'm pretty sure I know every secret there is." He looked at her. She smiled and seemed confident that he did not know what she knew.

"All hotel-room paintings are locked onto the walls, right?" she asked.

"Sure. And they're not hard to unlock, but why bother? The paintings aren't worth stealing, and hotel doesn't put safes behind them."

"They don't. But there's something better." She got to her feet and Neal sat up, curious. Diana picked a knife from one of their plates. She sat on her heels by the nearest painting. Her finger slid on the wall under the frame.

"There's a little mark... right here. So you know something's there. It's for people who live out of hotels," she said while she unlocked the painting with the knife. She unhooked it. "A sort of secret art... To make the experience more bearable." She placed the painting on the floor ad revealed a painting behind it. One unique piece, one with class. Still not one worthy of stealing, but still… Neal rose and got closer, laughing that he had had no clue about the trick.

"How did you know about this?"

"I'm the daughter of a diplomat. I grew up in fancy hotels."

Neal stared in disbelief.

"You're the daughter of a diplomat?"

"Why are you so surprised?"

"Diplomats' daughters don't normally know how to field-strip a semiautomatic."

"My bodyguard taught me."

"Oh, and you had a bodyguard," Neal mumbled. Most diplomats' kid could stay alive without.

"His name was Charlie. He practically raised me. Was like a father to me."

Her voice had been so cheery, so natural. But Neal saw something in her face. Grief?

"What?"

"He died in the line of duty." She looked at him. "Protecting me." Diana walked passed him, back to the bed sitting down.

"Were you there when it happened?" Neal asked as he sat down beside her.

"I was."

So she too had had a loved one taken away from her in front of her eyes. And she had opened up to him, telling him, showing him trust. This was not something everyone knew. It was probably in a Bureau file somewhere but he was sure it was not common knowledge at the office.

"My first date with Kate, we conned our way into some rich guy's hotel room," Neal told her, without thinking of whether or not he incriminated himself. Diana rolled her eyes and smiled. "And we ordered the most expensive food they had. Did you know there's a thousand dollar hamburger?"

"You're joking," she answered in return, baffled and amused.

"We ordered five." Diana laughed. "And from our window... there was a view of this run-down old bridge. I'm sure it was a mess up close, but from our angle, the way the sun hit it..." Neal could recall the image so clearly. "It was beautiful. And we never wanted to leave that room." But they had. Of course, they had. But every moment with Kate he had recalled that view, that perfect moment. "It should have been me on that plane."

"But it wasn't," Diana said. Neal knew he had shown a vulnerable side, but he felt safe. "I know you blame yourself for what happened to Kate. I blamed myself for Charlie. But Charlie wouldn't have wanted me to do that. He'd have wanted me to go on with my life. I didn't know Kate, but I'd guess she'd want the same thing." Neal nodded, knowing she was right. But it was not easy. "Now, do you have a pencil?"

"I do." Neal frowned at the face now looking quite mischievous. "Why?"

"Because there's a painting in this room with nothing behind it."

Peter sat on the left-over chair reading a magazine he had little interest in. It was from when he stayed at Neal's place when the power was down and he had not liked the hotel room he felt he could afford. Not only had he already read it, but it also reminded him that Neal had spent a night in a holding cell while Peter slept on Neal's sofa.

There were some odd sounds coming from where the funny guy went. Then it sounded like he pulled the leg of a table filled with stuff that now crashed down to the concrete.

"Everything all right back there?" he yelled.

"Keep reading!" Mozzie called back.

No, he was done with that. But he could sit tight. There was a sound of wood breaking and glass bottles rolling. Then Mozzie walked out handing him a pile of five hundred dollar bills with a bow.

"Your money, sir. We should go." Peter caught up with Mozzie already on his way out.

"Do you mind sticking around?" Peter asked in the car. "We need to get the money to Neal and Diana."

"Just remember rule number one, Suit."

"I will."

Peter parked just outside the van, not having time with too much discretion. Mozzie leaned against the car, waiting, when he saw where Peter was going. He had no time to argue. He got inside and handed the pack to Jones.

"We need to get these serial numbers logged as quickly as possible," he said looking at his watch. "We have 10 minutes. We get those numbers, we can trace them back to Jennings. How are Caffrey and Diana holding up?"

"How do you think?" Jones asked as he placed the bills in an electronic money logging counting scanning gizmo they usually had in banks but that Jones somehow hand managed to get in place in his absence.

"Good work, Jones."

"Not so bad yourself, Peter."

"Like Alice in Wonderland," he mumbled to himself. "Logged?"

"Logged," Jones confirmed. Peter grabbed the money and got out to Mozzie.

"We got eight minutes. Take these to the penthouse. Top floor. Got that?"

"I'm aware of the position of a penthouse, Suit," Mozzie said and took the money. Without a second look back he walked straight ahead for the hotel lobby.

"When did you start working at White Collar, for Peter?" Neal asked while he was sketching the bridge from memory, on the wall where it would be hidden by a painting.

"Just before we caught you," Diana answered. "I was at the trial, listening to his statement."

"He did a good job," Neal admitted. He took a step back. It was a long time he drew something that was not a copy of someone else's art. Maybe he should do a painting of that bridge in oil someday.

"You draw well, Neal."

"Thank you."

"I still can't wrap my head around that you're friends."

"Aren't _we_ friends?" Neal asked and Diana nodded.

"Not as close, but I would say we are."

Neal amused himself by hiding his signature in the sketch.

"And I'm still a convicted felon and you're a federal agent."

"Yes, but I wouldn't spring you out of prison to have you as a consultant. The reason we've become friends is because Peter did."

"Have no fear," Neal assured her and sat down beside her, "Peter is fully capable of putting me back in prison if needed."

"I know that," Diana returned. "Peter admired your skill and that you weren't violent, and he loved the challenge of chasing you, but he wasn't prepared for you to like him. I just can't understand how you could be friends with him, just like that."

Neal shrugged.

"He was just doing his job. Hard to hold that against him, especially not when it was so challenging to not get caught. First I was just vain enough to take pride in being chased by the best man they had. Then I studied him and learned that he treated people with respect, that he was someone to trust. If you made a deal with him, he kept it. Hard not to like him."

"You didn't make a deal with him, though."

Neal grinned.

"Much more fun to see if I could make it through the interrogation without slipping." And he would not likely get less than four years with a confession and a deal. "Not that I had anything to slip about of course."

"Of course."

"So you worked with him when I was in prison?"

"I did."

"Ever mentioned me?"

Diana gave him that mischievous smile again.

"You know our job is to catch the criminals not yet behind bars, right? Not chasing the ones in prison?"

Neal laughed.

"So I've heard."

"Did you know that Peter grew a mustache?"

He stared at her.

"You're lying to me."

"I'm not," she stated with an honest face. "I swear I'm not."

"There is no way Peter had a mustache."

"For a month!" Diana said laughing. "It was amazing."

"I would have broken out of prison to see that."

Diana burst into a new laugh. Then there was someone at the door.

"Barrow has a key," she said. Then threw herself at him, pushing him down on the bed, kissing him.

"You know," said a familiar voice. "I'd say 'Get a room,' but..."

Diana looked up.

"What if he works for Barrow?" Neal suggested, not sure if Diana had any clue who Mozzie was.

"I know who he is," she said and sat up.

"It was worth a try."

Mozzie had brought a serving trolley and now lifted the doom of the plate. On it was the ten grand.

"Great!" She was out of bed and took the money.

"I think we should stay here—" Neal started.

"Hey, Hef..." Mozzie objected and Neal got out of bed too and grabbed his clothes. When he got back he saw Mozzie study his sketch. Neal gave him a smile and hung the painting back, covering it.

He took the elevator down with Diana who put the earpiece back.

"Right on time, guys."

When they got out in the mingle area, Neal gave her a kiss on the cheek.

"Thank you. We'll do it again some time." He meant it.

He passed Barrow on the way out and paused by the stairs down to see how things worked out for Diana.

She handed him the envelope.

"So, when do we start making some real money?"

The next morning Peter met up with Neal and they walked towards the office.

"Is it true you wore a mustache when I was a prison?"

Peter stared at the kid.

"So you had a good time with Diana, did you?"

"Indeed," Neal grinned back at him. "But totally decent. Is it true?"

"Yes," Peter sighed. "It's true. Coffee?"

"Sure, thanks."

Peter bought them coffee.

"How is it that you always get the penthouse suite with the girl and I end up with the sweaty, bald-headed guy at a warehouse in Queens?"

Neal put his finger under the nose, across his upper lip.

"Stop that."

"Can I see a picture of the 'stache?" the kid begged. "Please?"

"No, I burned all of them. They're burned."

Peter noted that some people they met had a green armband on their upper arm and so had Neal.

"What's with the armband?"

"It's 'Save the park' day."

They met a few beautiful young ladies who greeted Neal with a 'Save the park' when they passed them.

"Does Mozzie know that the one conspiracy theory that he's falling for is actually true?" Peter asked.

"Hey, who's to say it's a conspiracy theory?" the kid protested. "Perception drives the reality, Peter. All right?"

Peter was not really sure if he liked that or not. It seemed as if Neal created his own world and stepped right into it. Maybe this had gone too far. On the other hand, his pet convict was good at it, and all he had done was creating a rumor.

The kid's phone rang. Neal showed him the display. It was Jennings.

"This is Benjamin," the kid answered the phone. "All right. Relax, Gary. This is what we've been preparing for." He listened for a long while. "Call up a reporter friendly to the campaign. I want them to ask you about the loan scandal, okay? And I want you to answer with a simple question... 'Did you ever play stickball?'"

Peter frowned. Did they still play stickball? If Neal had played it on the streets of New York in his youth he would be surprised. The kid beamed at him, still on the phone. Peter grinned. The master of diversions.

  
  
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	18. Timmy Nolan Memorial Park

That noon Neal and the other of Jennings' campaign workers gathered around the television and watched their boss being interviewed on the news

"-The FBI has reopened their investigation into the Mickelson loan scandal," the reporter said. "Is this true?"

"It is," Jennings said. "And let me ask you something. Have you ever played stickball?"

"No, I have not, senator."

"Well, all you need to play stickball is a broomstick and a ball." Neal heard his own words coming from a prominent senator. Corrupt most likely but still. "It's the ultimate form of democracy, right? Anyone can play. Even Timmy Nolan."

"Who is Timmy Nolan?"

"Timmy Nolan..." Jennings seamed to suppress a tear "Was a friend of mine that I used to play with. And he's also the reason why I am fighting so hard to make this park a reality." He pointed at the area no one claimed for a stadium or anything else as far as Neal knew. "Look, we all know why a five-year-old, closed investigation has suddenly resurfaced. It's because there are people out there who would rather use this land for their own profit than to let the Timmy Nolans of this city have a place to play." Neal glanced around and saw the others spellbound. "Well, I'll tell you this. They can come at me with whatever they want. But I will not back down!" Jennings left the journalist and the audience in the room burst out in an applause.

"All right. Yeah!" Neal added to the positivism flowing.

Reggie left the inner office and joined the applause.

"Cooper."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

Neal made a quick excuse with the man he was talking to and walked up to Reggie.

"Look, I need to know what's going on, or I can't fix it." He looked at the man without getting any response. "If you can't trust me—"

"You believe in Gary Jennings, right?"

"Yeah, I wouldn't have done this if I didn't. He's gonna be governor in the next five years."

"He's got his sights set even higher," Reggie said. "But to make it there... We need to take out this FBI agent."

Neal fought to make his shiver not to show. Peter.

"Didn't you just watch the news? The story's buried. I took care of it."

"For now, yeah. But I've seen guys like Burke. You buried him now. That's just gonna heat him up."

So they had not done anything yet. Neal relaxed. They wanted him to fix this too, but was not sure where his moral limits were yet.

"What's your plan?"

"This prostitute... Lana? I think she knows a lot more about Burke than she's letting on."

"You want to talk to her?"

"Not me," Reggie grinned. "I've got a guy."

"Barrow?"

"Yeah. He'll get it out of her."

That was a phrase too cliche to misunderstand.

"What's he gonna do to the girl?"

"He'll scare her. Maybe rough her up a little."

"And what if he gets out of control?"

"Is that so bad?"

"When's Barrow gonna have this 'discussion' with the girl?"

"Any time now."

It was Diana, a trained and armed FBI agent. But he had no clue what kind of threat Barrow was.

Peter was in the van with Jones and two agents in FBI wind-breakers, supervising Diana was she walked up to her meeting with Barrow.

"Diana's entering Barrow's hotel room," Jones said, listening.

Peter both heard and felt the buzz from his phone in his back pocket. He took it out and saw the text from Neal: 'SOS DIANA'.

"Diana's in trouble," he told them. "You two, come with me. Jones, call for backup." He ran out of the van and inside the building. As he rushed down the corridor he heard a gunshot. He sped up. At the apartment door he put the shoulder to it with full force, gun in his hand. The door slammed open.

In the living-room Barrow was on his back on the floor with Diana's high-heeled shoe-clad foot on his chest, gun pointing down at him.

"Aww. You were worried," Diana beamed at Peter.

Peter took a quick turn in the room before holstering his gun, leaving the rest to the other agents.

"Oh. Not about you," he said. "I was worried what you'd do to him."

"Think we've got enough to arrest Jennings now?"

"Yeah," he said, picking Barrows gun off the floor. "I think we do."

He glanced at Barrow. The man was shot the left shoulder.

"I'll call for an ambulance, and your're under arrest."

Ten minutes after Neal sent his SOS to Peter he got a text back. 'Diana rules.' Neal grinned to himself.

"Something funny," Jennings asked, passing him on his way to his office.

"Just a Wonder Woman quote."

"We are working here, Cooper." Jennings closed the door to his office. A photographer arrived and half an hour later. Neal watched Jennings pose in his office for publicity shots and had to keep a smug grin from his face. Peter came in and joined him.

"You get what you need?" he asked the agent.

"Barrow rolled on Jennings. He figured a confession was better for the soul," Peter answered. "Jones just finished arresting Reggie,and he found a copy of the second set of books on him. Now for the big guy."

Neal stopped him.

"Oh, wait for it."

Jennings had not seen them yet and the best photos were not yet taken. Then the senator showed all his shiny white teeth and made both thumbs up.

"Yeah," Neal smiled.

"Oh, ho ho ho," Peter laughed beside him. "Picture perfect."

Four agents came in behind them and Peter walked ahead of them across the office and Neal joined and Peter's side. He saw Jennings note the group closing in and the smile for the cameras changed to one of arrogance.

Peter gestured for him to wait outside and Neal did.

"I don't think this is the kind of headline you're looking for, Agent Burke," he heard Jennings say. "'Rogue FBI agent arrests innocent man.'"

"You're a saint," Peter said then turned to the door. "Isn't he?"

Neal knew that was his que and he walked inside.

"Oh, yeah," he said. "Yeah, I can almost see the halo."

Jennings' confidence poured away like ice in a summer's day.

"Hey, what do you think?" Peter asked and pointed. "Hang the dogs playing poker on that wall?"

"That would really bring this room together."

Jennings was leaning heavily with his hands on his desk.

"Senator Jennings," his handler said. "You're under arrest."

"This is ridiculous," the man snapped out of it. "On what charge?"

"Oh, a bunch of them..." Peter said as the two agents cuffed him. "Campaign finance fraud, and as an accessory to murder."

"He also knows about Barrow," Neal added.

"I also know about Barrow," Peter confirmed. "Nothing to say to that?"

"I want my lawyer," Jennings said in a not very successful effort to seem superior.

"Good choice," Neal said and the senator was led away. Peter probably figured it was time to leave as well, but Neal had other plans.

"Oh, Peter…" he said as he grabbed the remote and turned the TV on.

"Hmm?"

Neal sat down on the desk and Peter took the place beside him. It was a live broadcast from the place where Jennings had stood just hours ago.

"A new bond measure has been placed on the ballot that," the journalist said, "if passed, will assure this field will be the new home of Timmy Nolan Memorial Park."

"Who's Timmy Nolan?" Peter asked.

"I have no idea. You guys have to invent him."

"-The greater good of the community, in this case by a little boy named Timmy Nolan and an old-fashioned game of stickball."

"Look at you," Peter laughed. "You got a park built."

Yep. If nothing else turned out well, at least he had done some good thing in his life, Neal figured. And it was something to be proud of, he guessed. Especially since the reason for it to be there, was one big con.

A few days later when Peter was walking to the coffee machine with Neal, Diana turned up, face serious and handed a file to Neal. Peter had no idea what it could be about. The kid had no common case with Diana at the moment.

Neal flung the file open and read. Then he glanced up at Peter with a face full of disappointment.

"Peter, how could you keep this from me?"

Peter glanced at Diana. Why?

"I'm sorry, Boss. He needed to know."

Oh, God, she had given the kid the information they had about the music box. He sent her a glare. This was not her choice to make. But done was done.

"Neal..." he began.

"I expected more 'Magnum, PI'" his pet convict said with a grin. Peter frowned. Neal opened the file and showed the photo inside of Peter in mustache. "And less super Mario."

Peter stared in shock.

"I burned all those. How did you... Give me that!" He tried to grab the file but Neal backed away

"Oh, no, no."

"Come on, let me..."

"It's more Burt Reynolds, no?" Diana laughed and Peter could not help join. This was nothing compared what he thought Diana had done but God how he hated how he looked in that mustache. Neal held the photo over his face and made a petty good imitation of Mario's high pitched voice as he jumped up the stairs as if he was part of a video game.

"You look good in orange," Peter called out after him.

"That's for making me flirt with Caffrey," Diana smiled.

"All right. Fair enough, fair enough." It was.

"Who wants it? Who wants it?" Neal called out and eager hands reached for the photo. "Take it, you guys." Peter listened to their howling laughs. Peter sighed. He would survive.

"What else you have?" he asked Diana.

"Facial recognition came back."

"And?"

"Nothing on our mystery man."

Peter looked at the patchwork photo in Diana's second folder.

"Who are you?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	19. Art Heist

Neal enjoyed the morning hours as he walked to the office. He passed a newspaper stand. Then realizing what he had seen on the front page. He pulled out a wad of bills from his pocket, pulled out a dollar, and pocketed the rest. Then returned to the vendor.

"How you doing today, sir?" he asked.

"Very well, thanks." Neal handed him the money as he grabbed the paper. "Thank you."

'Lewis Thayer painting stolen' said the headline. Someone had stolen a painting in the middle of the day from the Lamson Gallery. Neal smiled. Bold was fun.

"I hope you're not admiring your own work," he heard Peter's voice behind him, the coffee of the morning in his hand.

"I wish I was," Neal admitted. "But I got a pretty good alibi. I was working with you yesterday." This one no one could not blame on him.

"I'll be sure to back you up when we talk to the Lamson Gallery," Peter nodded. "The curator is waiting for us upstairs."

"I love a good art heist."

"Solving a good art heist," Peter corrected him. Neal blinked.

"That's what I said." The difference between figure out how it was done versus how to do it was not that big.

They started walking towards the office.

"Let me see that," Peter asked and took the paper from his hand. "Lewis Thayer's 'untitled #2.' It's worth four million," Peter read. "You'd think for that kind of money he'd have bothered to come up with a title."

As if 'face in blue #2' would have pleased someone as uninterested in art as his friend.

"It is one of his seminal pieces," Neal said.

"Is it a fad or talent that drives up the price?"

"Both. Neither. Don't try to understand the peculiarities of the pop-art market."

"Would you pay four million for that?"

Neal sent his handler a glance.

"'Pay'?"

Peter sighed.

"Yeah. You're the wrong guy to ask."

Peter drank the rest of his coffee and dropped the paper cup in a trashcan on his way through the office. Had it not been for Neal he would enjoy this art heist. Somehow he was always afraid that the kid would be too tempted when it came to art, that he would do something stupid. And that worry had proven justified before.

He walked into the conference room followed by Neal.

“Miss Jeffries,” he greeted the woman waiting inside, shaking her hand. “I'm special Agent Burke. This is Neal Caffrey.”

“How you doing?” his consultant said and shook her hand.

Peter quickly stirred away from any questions concerning Neal.

“Tell us what happened.”

She handed him a bunch of photos of an empty frame.

“Well, as you can see, the ‘untitled #2’ was simply cut out of its frame.”

“How does someone pull a down-and-dirty slash and grab from a major gallery?” he asked the curator. Did they not have security preventing these things? Or did they want the insurance money?

“It's one of the few options left,” the kid answered, “if you want to knock over a high-security—” 

“I was talking to her.”

Neal took a step back.

“Mr. Caffrey's right,” she said. “We have sensors in the frame, but nothing attached to the canvas.”

“Cutting it out of the frame circumvents the alarms,” Neal whispered.

“Got it,” Peter hissed. He had that part figured out all by himself thank you very much. “Security cameras?” he asked her.

“The theft occurred during our daily security-tape swap,” she sighed.

“So, we're not dealing with complete amateurs.”

“No,” Neal agreed. “Actually, it sounds like a pretty good plan.” Why did he have to admire the thief?

“What are the odds you'll be able to recover the painting?” Jeffries asked.

“Well, it would have made my job a lot easier if you had kept it from the press,” Peter returned and showed her the newspaper.

“We did.”

“Somebody didn't.”

She made a little shrug. Peter guessed she had no idea how the story came to their knowledge. He glanced at Neal who seemed to have the same thought as he. There was a reason it was in the paper so quickly.

“Alright, miss Jeffries, thank you for your time. We’ll get in touch.” He handed her his card. “Don’t hesitate to call.”

She nodded and left. They watched her leave.

“We’ll start with the tipster,” Neal said at once. Peter nodded.

“Anonymous tip,” Jones said. Neal leaned back in his chair. Peter leaned on the young agent’s desk opposite him.

“Do we think our thieves called it in?” Diana asked.

“Good chance,” Neal said. “Headlines attract black-market buyers.”

“Which means they want to move the painting quickly,” Peter concluded.

“I can ask around,” he offered.

“Good. Run your street contacts. Diana, you've got Europe,” Peter delegated. “Check with Interpol. Jones, you're on Asia. Check with the Alat over there.”

“Yep,” Jones agreed.

Neal had pulled out his phone but Peter kept hanging around. He sent his handler a stare.

“What?” Peter asked.

“Do you mind? I need to check my street contacts.”

“Calling Mozzie?”

“He's good at this kind of thing.” The truth was that it was too common knowledge that he worked with the feds to get the same intel as Mozzie could get.

“You sure he didn't do it?” Peter asked.

Yes, he was sure.

“Slash and grab,” he explained, but his friend did not get it. “Frame's too high.”

“Yeah.” Finally, he left and Neal had Mozzie on speed dial.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Moz,” Neal said in a low voice, “the Lamson is missing a Thayer.”

“I didn't steal it!”

“I know.”

“Reward?”

Did Mozzie just ask if there was a reward? 

“Sizable,” he answered to keep his options open.

“All right. I'm on it.”

Neal ended the call. There was something going on. He was certain Moz had not stolen the painting but did he know who did? When Mozzie called back less than forty minutes later and told him to meet up at Sherman Memorial he was definitely sure something was going on. He decided to be there early.

When Neal arrived at the corner of Central Park Mozzie was already by the golden statue and tapped a wooden walking-stick very distinctly on the tarmac as he saw Neal.

“What are you doing here?” Mozzie blamed him. “I said meet me in an hour.”

“And you found a source in less than an hour. That's pretty quick, Moz.”

“I only deal with professionals.”

“And you asked about a reward, which you never ask about,” Neal persisted. “So I'm starting to think you're talking to somebody else and not telling me.”

“You're paranoid.” Just as much as you’ll win an Oscar for your acting, Neal thought.

“Who's your fence, Moz?”

“I'm friends with many people of unsavory character.”

“Mm-hmm. How long you been talking to her?”

“I know not of who you speak,” Mozzie replied looking away as if that made the lie less obvious. Then he tapped the walking stick again. “Sorry. Meeting aborted. My sources spook easily. They have to think I'm a vault.” He tapped again. “Meeting aborted!” Moz did definitely said the last to someone else, or there would not have been a need to raise the voice. And that tapping. He heard that from the other side of the statue’s pedestal too, like an echo.

“Sounds like the meeting's still on,” Neal smiled and walked passed Moz and to the source of the other tapping. Mozzie gave up and followed him.

On the other side, with the back to him, was Alex.

“I can't believe I'm saying this. I saw a mockingbird in the park,” she said.

“What color was the mockingbird?” he asked in return.

She turned and seemed just mildly surprised to see him.

“The bird died,” Mozzie said and pulled his arm. “Let's go.”

“What are you doing here, Alex?” He was not going anywhere. “I've never known you to go skulking around after reward money.”

“Well, after the plane blew up, a lot of people were asking questions. I'm trying to stay off the radar. Makes it hard to find work.”

“You came to Mozzie, not to me?”

“He's not tethered to the FBI.” 

“Two taps meant ‘abort,’ by the way,” Mozzie said.

“Or you could have just yelled ‘abort,’” Alex suggested and looked at Neal. “I found the missing Thayer painting. It was fenced in Dubai.”

“Thanks,” he smiled. “But you didn't come all this way just to say that. What are you really doing here, Alex?”

“I needed to talk to Mozzie. Alone.”

“What did I do?” his friend asked, perplexed.

“We'll talk.”

“We're not friends anymore?” Neal wanted to know. When his phone rang with extremely bad timing. He pulled it out and walked a few steps away.

“What's up, Peter?”

“Got news about the painting. Meet me in the office.”

“On my way,” Neal confirmed and hung up. “Got to go back to the office. We'll talk later.”

He smiled at Alex. So smart and good looking.

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	20. Copycat

"Great, great. Overnight it," Peter told them over the phone and hung up. He swung down in his chair and saw Neal had come back. "I found the painting." He grinned, pleased to found it before the kid for once.

"How did you find it?" Neal seemed baffled. "I found it."

"Where?"

"It was fenced to a textile magnate in Dubai."

"A hotel heiress in Budapest just turned hers in," Peter said.

Two paintings?

"Good news," Jones said as he and Diana came in.

"You found the painting overseas," his pet convict said so sure of himself that Peter knew that he was involved. And that Neal knew that too.

"Scotland yard has it," Diana confirmed, confused by the comment.

"It's also in Dubai and Budapest," Peter said.

"What?" Jones frowned.

"They're forgeries," Neal told them.

"All of them? How do you know?" Diana wanted to know.

"Because customs clamps down when a theft occurs," Peter explained. "The risks of getting the original out are too high."

"But if you make forgeries ahead of time and take them out of the country before the heist, you're in the clear," Neal continued. "Steal the Thayer, leak the theft to the press, then sell the forgeries."

"And the original never leaves the country."

"You've seen this scam before," Diana concluded, sharp as always.

Peter nodded.

"I know someone who—"

"Allegedly," the kid reminded him, and both Jones and Diana smiled.

"—Allegedly pulled it off before. We have a copycat on our hands."

"Who are they copycatting?" Diana asked with a sweet innocent smile.

His pet convict looked like he was about to burst with pride.

"Me."

Peter sighed. The vain Neal was unbearable. Why they had never been able to pin Neal to that scam he had never understood, but it would not work twice.

A few days later all the three paintings were placed on a row in their conference room. Peter had called the curator of the Lamson Gallery over. She gasped when she saw three of the same painting and Peter asked her to deny or confirm for each of them if it was the original or not.

Neal was certain they were all fake. The scam was a perfect copy of one he pulled off himself and when Peter put all the pieces together the traces to him had gone stone cold. He studied the canvases beside miss Jeffries, each for their own point and purpose. Neal had painted his forgeries himself and it was a good chance that the one painting these had arranged for the rest as well. 

He held a large photo of the original. Forgeries could never be exact copies. There were always little details that could tell.

“So you've confirmed these are all forgeries?” Peter asked her.

“Yes,” she sighed. “All of them.”

Neal leaned closer. The color did not match. But why. Someone had done an impressive work making three copies and not making the shades right? Up close the image was a matrix of colored dots that on a distance made an even surface, like an old television.

He flipped the curtains closed.

“Neal?”

Neal took a look at the painting again in the new light.

“Neal?”

“I don't think our forger went off a photograph. I think they stood in front of the original when they painted these.”

“How do you know that?”

“Thayer used the ‘Ben-Day dots’ method to show shading. He spread paint across a paper stencil and pushed it against the canvas with a brush. The shadowing in these paintings is more deliberate.” Neal took a closer look at the bottom left corner. “It's minute, but these dots grow starker at the bottom. The forger probably started these in afternoon light,” he told the curator, “when the color was slightly more red. They also didn't realize they caught the painting when the light was pouring directly down on it, causing a deeper contrast at the bottom.”

“There's no lighting overhead,” Peter noted on the photo from the gallery. “Was this painting ever hanging below that skylight?” he pointed and showed Jeffries.

“Yes. In late April. We had a pop-art show. We wanted to display the Thayer prominently.”

“Then we should check the registration log for April.” Peter grabbed the gallery’s thick logbook.

“Probably looking for a student,” Neal said. “Talented but still experimenting with technique.”

“Someone like Justin Magary from East Side University?” Peter pointed at the entry in the log. “He stopped by on the 21st of April at one-forty-five.”

“That would be afternoon light.”

They walked into the East Side University campus. Peter smiled. He had some fantastic memories from his own time in college. A world of studies and few other worries than occasional exams. Sometimes he wished he had stayed there forever.

Then he happened to see Neal.

“What's that on your face?” he asked, “I haven't seen you this happy in a while.” How long was it since Kate died now? Six months Peter calculated quickly.

“You know, it's a beautiful day.”

“You're excited someone's copycatting you.”

“Imitation, flattery...” the kid smiled, “you know what they say.”

Peter noted that Neal had not even tried to deny that he was right.

“You ever been on a campus?” he asked the brightest conman he had ever met.

“Not as a student.”

“And yet you have three MBAs and two doctorates,” Peter pointed out.

“Clearly something wrong with the system.”

“Too bad you faked it,” Peter said. “They could have made copies of you and filled up a frat house.” With such talent, why, oh why, had he ended up a criminal or all things.

“Oh, are we bitter we weren't invited to the party?”

“Oh, it's just with my father's construction salary, I had to stick to the grindstone. Four years of advanced math on scholarship, then two years of accounting.” His only real talent had been the physics, like baseball. Never something he had had a chance to utilize to something notable. There had not been margins enough to try anything but the safe bets.

“I still can't imagine you hunched over a desk with a little visor, doing my taxes,” the kid said. “You're lucky the FBI hires mathletes.”

“I was not a mathlete. I was an athlete who was good at math.”

“Yeah... We fraternity guys call you ‘nerds.’”

Neal told him he had never finished high-school or been to college. That meant that he could have left the school system in his early teens. Maybe even younger. The Bureau had done thorough research on Neal Caffrey once they knew his name, but there was nothing to be found before he was eighteen. Even though they had the authority to open sealed files.

“So, why'd you forgo school and go to New York?” Peter asked and he could hear his own curiosity shine through as bright as daylight.

“Sorry, but we're here to interrogate someone else.”

Did the kid say that to tease him? Or did he really not want to tell? Had curiosity ever killed a cat?

Peter returned from the office with the location of Justin Magary. Or at least which art class he was supposed to be at. They found their way through the building and Peter opened a door, just a freeze momentarily. When Neal got a chance to get inside as well he saw why his handler was so uncomfortable.

The class was using a live model. Female. Nude. Neal had done some croquis years ago. Nude bodies were supposed to be art and not sexy.

He got eye contact with the model. Both smiled when Peter stood with his back turned.

“See what you missed out on?” his handler mumbled.

“I'm reconsidering my position on college.”

“Focus.”

He shared a smile with the model again and then he took a look at the works of the young artists. One had drawn circles with charcoal, roughly assembling to the shape of the woman in front of him. Another one had done about the same but with straight lines.

Then he saw what he was looking for and he slid over. Precise drawing. Like Rubens.

“Peter...” He waved him over.

“Justin Magary?” Peter asked the blond young man.

“Yes?”

“We need to talk to you.” Peter made a minimal gesture for them to move further away from the others.

“Why?”

Peter held up his id as answer and Justin gave in and moved with them to an empty part of the room.

“What do you know about Lewis Thayer's ‘untitled #2’?” Peter asked.

“Uh...Nothing. I-I mean, I know it, of course.”

So nervous, Neal noted, not trying to say something incriminating and still sound innocent, failing badly.

“You ever painted one?” he asked, going straight to the point.

“It's a good question,” Peter said.

“I probably shouldn't say anything.”

“We've got you on a camera sketching it at the Lamson gallery in April,” Peter informed him.

“That's legal, right?”

“Not when three of your copies are fenced as the real thing. That turns them into forgeries... Which is illegal.”

“I can vouch for that,” Neal said in a way to telling the kid that they were not the enemies, but that what he had done had caught the attention of the FBI which was serious.

“It's looking pretty bad for you, kid," Peter continued. "If you talk to me, I can help you.”

The kid’s eyes darted to the door.

“So, you’ll arrest me?”

“I will. If you don’t cause a scene, neither will we.”

The kid chewed on his lip. Neal watched him with sympathy. Running seemed so easy, but it was not.

“Come, Justin,” he said. “Let’s get your things.”

Once again the young man gave in and followed Neal’s advice. He put the drawing he was working on in his portfolio and followed Peter out from the classroom with Neal close behind. He walked without a word between them through the campus, head hanging.

When they got to the car they were out of sight from any fellow students. Peter showed the kid the cuffs he just brought out.

“Leave your portfolio to Neal, Justin. He’ll take good care of it.” Neal got it put the huge file in the back of the trunk while Peter restrained the kid. While Peter read him his rights Neal made sure the file was secure. He had no wish to take part in what happened beside the car.

He shut the trunk when he heard he passenger door close. Justin was in the backseat. Peter joined him behind the car.

“Remember when you were arrested for the first time,” Peter asked. Neal frowned. Hard to forget, but why ask now? Peter nodded towards Justin.

“You want me to do a Peter Burke?”

“Or a Neal Caffrey.”

Neal was not keen on the task but he remembered when he was arrested alright and the difference Peter had made. And this guy was probably not even prepared to get arrested as he had been. He nodded and took the seat beside Justin. Peter had cuffed the kid front. It was a nice touch. Even though Justin probably did not know that.

As the car closed in on the FBI headquarters Justin’s hands fidgeted.

“In what way can you help me?” he asked.

“You’re aware of your rights?” Peter asked from the front seat.

“How do I know you don’t trick me? Maybe I should ask for my lawyer.”

“You’re entitled to,” Peter answered.

“Get one if it makes you more comfortable," Neal said. "What matters to us is if you talk to us or not. Right now it looks pretty bad, right?” Justin nodded to this. “If it’s not as bad as it looks, and you help us, Peter can make a deal with the prosecutor. And trust me when I say he is the best there is.”

_If you enjoy my fanfiction and want to know more about the problems and obstacles, or want to learn about my process, please consider to join my Patreon at patreon.com/desnordlund. Thank you for reading._


	21. Technological virtuoso

Peter sat opposite their young suspect in their interrogation room. Usually, he unlocked the cuffs. This time he had not. The more that reminded their forger about the seriousness in the situation the better. He glanced at Neal, leaning against the wall. Peter had a feeling Neal was not entirely comfortable, but it did not seem to give him enough issues to leave.

After going through the regular stuff, making sure Justin did not want a lawyer, telling him about the recording and the camera, he showed Justin photos of the three forgeries.

"These are three forgeries of Lewis Thayer's 'untitled #2.' Have you painted these?"

"Haven't I already told you?" he asked, confused.

"For the record."

"Yes, I suppose those are the ones I painted."

"Where did you paint them?"

"At the Lamson gallery. In April."

"Are you aware that the original was stolen a few days ago?"

"Stolen?" Justin did seem paler.

"Your forgeries were sold overseas as the original."

"I… I didn't do that! Please, you have to believe me. All I did was the reproductions."

"Forgeries," Neal said. "Your reproductions are forgeries. You didn't sign them with your name."

"Yeah." Justin looked at his cuffed hands. "Forgeries."

Peter leaned back in his chair.

"So, tell us what happened."

"A while ago, I answered an ad on the school's list server for reproductions. I get an e-mail back commissioning seven copies of 'untitled #2.'"

"Seven?" Peter repeated. Where were the other four? "Did you wonder why somebody would want seven copies?"

"You know how hard it is to make money as an art student doing art?"

Easier than get rid of a criminal record, Peter thought.

"Who hired you?"

"I didn't meet them. They dropped the materials off in my mailbox. And once I'd finished, they said to leave the paintings in the rec center and that the money would be left in my box again." The young man must have understood how naive it sounded because he quickly added: "I thought it was weird that they didn't want to meet, so I—"

"So you stayed and watched the pick-up?" Neal ended the sentence.

"Yeah. I wanted to make sure it was legit. And she seemed normal, so I let it go."

Peter sighed. Most people looked normal. And those who did not were rarely crooks. But they needed to find those behind this.

"All right, if you sat down with a sketch artist, do you think you could remember what she looked like?"

"May I?" Justin asked and pointed and the art portfolio.

"Yeah."

With the help of Peter and Neal it was opened on the table, filling it. Justin moved a few sketches aside and found what he was looking for.

"This is her."

Peter exchanged a look with Neal. It was a young beauty and if he had caught her features right it would be as good as if they had a photo.

Neal had not been in that interrogation room since his own arrest. It was interesting really. He had after all worked with Peter for eight months now. He pushed away the memories from his last stay in prison, breaking the period in two pieces. He hoped Justin would come off easy. He had not, but that was a different thing. He had not given Peter anything usable. In his case there was no bigger fish to catch. Beside he had not done what he did because he was lured into it or because he was naive. He did it because he was smart enough to pull it off.

He heard their voices all the way down the stairs.

“My fault?! It's your fault!” Alex?

He opened the door to his apartment and found Mozzie and Alex on each side of the dining room table. One on her feet, one sitting with a glass of wine.

“This would never have happened if you kept a lower profile!” Moz returned. “That's why I work in code.”

Neal joined them.

“Anything I can do?”

“I don't need your help,” Alex said at the same time as Mozzie said the opposite.

“Alex?”

“Someone's looking for her.”

Alex glared at his friend.

“Who?”

“She thinks it has something to do with the music box.”

The music box? Neal’s hear skipped a leap.

“Why?” he asked her.

“Well, she thinks—”

“Just let her talk,” Neal interrupted Moz.

“I don't know who, but they've got a powerful reach, and they've turned over a lot of stones.”

“All right, what can I do?”

Alex and Mozzie exchanged looks and she dug in her bag. Then she trow him something golden. He caught it.

“Krugerrands?” Had she gone insane?

“I needed the money to disappear.”

“I hooked her up with someone… who deals in Krugerrands.

“I've been fencing some in increments.”

“Who's the guy?” Neal wanted to know.

“Russell Smith,” Moz said. “Old friend from Detroit.”

“Some friend!” Alex snorted. “Russell found out someone's looking for me, and now he's gonna sell me out.” She swung from Neal back to Mozzie. “I need you to shut him up!”

“Short of killing him, I'm open to ideas.”

Frustrated, Alex grabbed her bag and walked towards the door. Neal caught up with her.

“Give me some time. I'll figure something out,” he said. “You know I won't let anything happen to you.”

She looked at him, as if she was not quite sure what to think of it. He returned the Krugerrand to her.

“Thanks.” She smiled and left.

Neal closed the door behind her and turned to Mozzie, just as baffled as last time.

“She comes to you and not to me?”

His friend got to his feet.

“Far be it for me to act as therapist, but... Maybe Alex doesn't want to see you heartbroken over Kate.”

“Or maybe it's the tracking anklet,” Neal suggested.

“Sure, it’s the anklet.”

“Found our girl,” Diana said walking into his office. “Justin's got talent.”

She handed him a photo of Justin’s drawing with a photo of the same girl paper clipped to the corner.

“If ever we're short a sketch artist, I know who to call,” Peter said and figured he knew where to find him too at least for a year. “Who is she?”

“Veronica Naylon.”

“Did she send the e-mail?”

“Can't be sure. The account's defunct, and the address was generic. Both the ad and e-mail account were created at the school computer lab, so anyone could have done it.” Diana handed him a file. “Here's her work-up.”

Peter browsed it.

“Junior, majoring in archaeology, mediocre grades, no priors,” he summoned and glanced at Diana. “How does an average 21-year-old student from the Upper East Side pull this off?”

“You think she has accomplices?”

“Maybe this is where she met them,” Peter pointed at a row. “She's an archaeology major, but she's currently acing a criminology class.”

“It's the one class she's pulling an A”

“How appropriate.”

“Oh, if you like that, you'll love this...” Diana grinned and handed him two papers. “Syllabus for the class.”

Peter scanned them and caught why she was smiling.

“He's gonna be impossible after this.” Diana just smiled even more to that comment. “Where's Neal?” At his desk. Peter took the papers and walked out to him. He stopped in his tracks when he saw the kid cutting the article of the theft from the newspaper.

“Oh, look at you. You'd think being copycatted was like winning the crime Oscar.”

“What? I'm not allowed to revel?”

Peter had hoped for a different reaction, but it was Neal.

“All right, take me through your version of this scam. How many players are involved?”

“You'd need a forger, a thief, and a couple of fences,” the kid answered without hesitation.

“Not the kind of thing you'd pull off by yourself?”

“Not unless you can be in multiple places at once. I mean, it's a sophisticated job. I doubt Justin or our mystery girl thought of it themselves.”

“No, but they might have figured it out by studying you,” Peter said and Neal’s eyebrows went up. “Our mystery girl, Veronica... she's acing a criminology class. Here's the syllabus.”

His pet convict grabbed it and saw what Peter had seen to. The headline ‘Neal Caffrey: Forger’. It was not true that they spent six years chasing him, but apart from that Peter could nothing but agree. Interesting reflection there too, that Neal worked alone or with just two or three others, to minimize the risk of being sold out. 

“They spent a week on me?” The kid could not have looked more delighted if Peter told him he could rob a bank and keep the money.

“Apparently you're one of the interesting criminals of the 21st century.”

"’A new breed of forger’, ‘technological virtuoso.’" Neal read. “Wow. ‘With a classical artistic foundation.’ They got it.”

“Yeah, yeah. I read it.” Of course, they studied Neal Caffrey, with every right. He was brilliant. But Peter wished with all his heart that the kid had never found out.

“Oh, they covered the Antioch manuscripts. Did you see that?”

“Yeah, I know. Relax. They only covered you for a week. By the end of the year, they probably won't remember your name.”

“Well, obviously, a few of them will,” the con man pointed out. “You think she formed a crew in this class?”

“People have been known to fall for a pretty face,” Peter said. “If Veronica had help, I don't want to scare them away by my talking to her just yet.”

“Well, I can talk to her,” Neal offered.

“Now you're reading my mind.”

“Anklet?”

“I'll pull it for this one,” Peter nodded. But he also noted how quick Neal had been asking about it. “You ready to go back to school?”

“I think I can handle that.”

“Good.”

“'Cause I'm a technological virtuoso.”

“Okay.” Peter left towards his office.

“With a classical artistic foundation.”

“Okay, okay. Read it to yourself. Quiet now.”

“Did you guys see this syllabus?” the kid called out over the office. Thank God it was almost empty.


	22. To con a con man

Peter unlocked the anklet and Neal took this foot down. This time it had been Neal asking about it, and in his eyes, Peter could see that little hint of excitement. He handed him an eagle pen. Even with that little twinkle in the kid's eyes, he trusted the con man to come back.

"As you said yourself yesterday, Veronica is probably not alone on this. Check the whole class, stir around." He saw Neal's face. "Do what you do best."

"And no shenanigans."

"I don't have to tell you all don'ts, do I?" Peter asked.

"I'll go in there, see how they react to having their idol in the room."

"Oh, please!"

"Technological virtuoso, remember. And it took you six years to catch me."

"Three."

"Six. Obviously. It's in writing, Peter," Neal beamed. "Maybe they only counted the second arrest?"

"It took three years," Peter insisted and felt like a stubborn five-year-old.

"Let's see what history remember, Peter, that's what's count." Peter bit his tongue not to tell about the Bureau's archives proving three years.

Neal walked into the lecture hall together with the other students and sat down in the back of the room to keep a good view of the people present. Professor Oswald entered the podium and started his lecture. Neal listened with interest.

“The Koechert diamond pearls was stolen by Gerald Blanchard in 1998,” he said showing an image of the 27 diamond-and-pearl hair ornament that belonged to the consort of Francis Joseph I of Austria, Elisabeth of Bavaria. Neal took out his eagle pen and pressed the record button. “It took them a full two weeks to realize that the jewel was missing because Blanchard replaced it with a pretty darn good costume replica.” Bought in the souvenir shop, Neal smiled. “He circumvented the alarms at the Viennese castle by parachuting onto the roof, if you can believe it or not. Some people have called this the perfect crime.”

“I wouldn't say he was perfect,” Neal stated loud and clear. “And Blanchard overshot his landing. He slipped on the tiles but saved himself by grabbing a railing on the castle's roof. So I'd say he loses marks for style.”

The initially angry glare from Professor Oswald had now turned to recognition.

“Excuse me, I believe we have a celebrity in our midst,” he said and Neal was flattered. “This is Mr. Neal Caffrey. To what do we owe the honor, sir?” He was dying to have Peter listen to this.

“I understand you study the best criminals,” he answered with all charm turned on as he told the students in the room: “I share that interest.”

“Wow,” was all the awestruck professor could manage.

“You...” Neal pointed, “you seem like a very capable teacher.”

“Oh, please. You know, you would be a far better t... hey, why don't you... could you come up here and answer some ques... class, wouldn't you love to have Neal Caffrey up here, teaching?”

The class applauded.

“Really?” This was not quite what he had expected but irresistible.

“Come on,” Oswald insisted and Neal rose and joined the professor. “We would love to have some of your expertise.” They shook hands. “Pleasure to have you.”

“Pleasure to be here.”

“Please...” the processor gestured to the rostrum.

“All right, well, we'll stick to the hypotheticals and anything covered by the statute of limitations,” he said, smiling and listen to the sweet music of their laugh. “Who's first?” Almost everyone in the class raised their hands. “Oh, wow.” Neal noted an exchange of looks between the professor now seated on the front row and a student, not raising his hand. “All right. How about you?” he said pointing at a young woman in the midst of the class.

“Is the Vinland map yours?”

“No, it belongs to the Mystic Seaport Museum as far as I know.” He pointed at another one.

“Is it true that you came with champagne to the cops on New Year’s Eve?” Neal was amused that that story had spread since he had not told and the other part was FBI agents.

“It was the FBI and they were hoping I would turn up at a party, so they sat in a van outside on New Year’s Eve instead of being at home with their families. I felt sorry for them and sent them a bottle and glasses. I didn’t deliver it myself though.”

It was sad that

“Did you steal the Antioch Manuscripts?”

“Whoever stole them are well aware that the statute of limitations does not cover that theft yet.” The class giggled. “But hypothetically that theft should beat the Koechert diamond pearls in elegance.”

“Did you really use carrier pigeons?”

“In theory, the carrier pigeons only carried the vault combination. They didn't carry the manuscripts.” They would have been way too heavy. The code to the vault was changed once a day and with carrier pigeons, there was no call to trace, no signal to catch. “Next question?” He pointed at Veronica Naylon.

“When executing a heist, Mr. Caffrey, do you prefer boxers or briefs?” So much for being the brains behind the operation, Neal thought.

“I think some things are better left to the imagination.”

He saw Veronica getting eye contact with another guy raising his hand. Neal pointed.

“There's not much written about your arrest. How'd you get caught?”

Neal remembered he was on a job.

“Momentary lapse in concentration.”

“So the FBI had nothing to with it?” the same guy asked.

“Oh, they'd like to take credit for it, but essentially, I turned myself in.” A huge lie.

“Recently, you were suspected in the la Joyau diamond heist—” the young man beside Veronica begun.

“Suspected. And then cleared,” Neal pointed out at once, ready to brew some rumors. “I served my four years, and I decided I didn't want to go back. Been living like all you ever since then. Or trying to.”

Professor Oswald rose.

“Okay. Let's thank Mr. Neal Caffrey.” The students applauded and Neal thanked them in return. “Remember, everybody,” the professor continued. “Read chapters 12 through 15 of Lovell for next week.” The student dropped off and Oswald turned to him. “Thank you so much, Mr. Caffrey. Fascinating.”

“It's the least I could do.” He watched the teacher and considered the unspoken network he had sensed. The lecture hall was empty. “You know, I thought I should participate in my own copyright infringement.”

“Excuse me?”

“It's a little green to rip off someone's con unless you improve it. You and your kids could use a little tutoring.”

“I'm sorry. I-I don't know what you're talking about.”

“The Thayer theft. Hey, don't get me wrong, man. I'm flattered. But, uh... I'd like to be cut in. You know, I did lay the groundwork.”

The look he got back did not sway a bit.

“Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I'm a Professor who teaches crime. I don't go out there and commit them.”

I’m sure you don’t, you send the kids, Neal thought.

“Okay.”

He turned to leave. Neal thought that he would get all the way out when:

“Mr. Caffrey...” Neal turned. “Um, I get together with a group of students after class.”

“Yeah, you got some bright kids in here,” he agreed and thought of Veronica and her question about underwear.

“Yeah, there's a few of them. We go to a bar called the Globe, around the corner. Be thrilled if you would join us.”

“The Globe? I'll think about that.”

“I think you might find it interesting.”

They said their goodbyes and Neal left.

“Had an interesting day at school?” Peter asked at Neal’s return. The kid handed him the eagle.

“I think professor Oswald is the brain behind it.”

“I have to agree,” Peter said and pulled the anklet out of a drawer and handed it to the kid. He put it on without argument. Peter put his research of Oswald into a file and moved to the conference room, waving Diana to come. She put the recording from the eagle on the computer and started it. Peter listened with amusement at Neal’s involuntarily lecture. 

“There's not much written about your arrest. How'd you get caught?” someone asked.

There was a pause and then Neal answered.

“Momentary lapse in concentration.” Rather the word ‘Kate’, Peter thought.

“So the FBI had nothing to with it?”

“Oh, they'd like to take credit for it, but essentially, I turned myself in.” What? Peter glared at Neal.

“Think we've heard enough,” Neal turned it off. Where was the mutual respect for each other? Did Neal just try to take cred for Peter’s and his team’s hard work?

“Suddenly I don't feel bad about telling you this,” Peter told him and Diana smiled beside him. “You're not the only person they've been copying.”

“What?” the kid whined and took the file Peter handed to him.

“Seems those who can also teach. We cross-checked all of the crimes on Professor Oswald's syllabus since he started teaching ten years ago.”

“We suspect he counterfeited a bank note last year,” Diana said. “Forged an Emerson letter, and smuggled Egyptian artifacts.”

“He copied Tokley-Parry?” Neal asked in disbelief reading from the file. Peter could not keep the smug grin from his face. Tokley-Parry had been effective in his smuggling, but it had been far from elegant and repeated the same thing over and over. Not chasing for challenges like his pet convict.

“Well, felony by proxy... you got to give him credit.”

“We also think that he might have stolen Matisse's ‘View of saint-Tropez.’”

“Matisse?” the kid said. “That's a serious payday.”

“Unfortunately, this is all speculation,” Peter sighed. “Oswald is taking advantage of his students, and Justin is going to go down for this unless we can prove it wasn't him.” Peter hated that. Justin had done a stupid thing and had to pay for it, absolutely, but he had not arranged the theft and the shipment of the paintings, which he was now officially suspected for. He trusted that kid and promised to help him. 

“Well, we have one card left,” Neal said. “We know about the Thayer. Oswald's hiding it somewhere.”

“He's not gonna give it up soon. Interpol found the fences who sold the forgeries abroad.”

“They know they're being watched,” Diana said. “They're out of play.”

“So he'll need a local fence,” the kid mumbled. Peter studied the convicted felon sitting on their conference table.

“You have something in mind?”

“Maybe. What's the FBI's policy for drinking on the job?”

“Neal?”

The kid started the recording he brought back, again. Peter understood why Neal had thought the professor to be behind it.

“We go to a bar called the Globe, around the corner. Be thrilled if you would join us.” 

“So, you want to join them at the Globe tonight?” Peter asked.

“Now you're reading my mind,” the kid grinned. He scooted further up on the table and placed his left foot on the edge, exposing the anklet. Peter sighed and rose. He had a feeling that his pet convict was teasing him. Or was it just him being uncomfortable with having Neal electronically restrained? Peter hoped not.

To Neal’s delight the professor had not turned up yet, but Veronica and the young man who had sat beside her in class.

“Hello there!” he beamed.

“Mr. Caffrey!”

“Oh, please, call me Neal. May I join?”

“Absolutely. I’m Veronica.”

“I’m Manny,” her friend said.

Soon two more joined. One of them was the guy asking about his arrest. While Neal worked his way into their hearts and minds with all kinds of magic tricks he just watched, playing with a deck of cards like all this was below him. 

“Okay, show us something else,” Veronica laughed.

He placed his hat over his full shot glass on the table.

“Bet you another twenty I can drink this shot without touching that hat.”

“You're on.”

Neal put his hand to his mouth and sucked some air.

“Done.”

“You didn't drink it,” Manny said.

“Done,” Neal repeated. Veronica lifted the hat to see and Neal snatched the glass and drank it.

“That's not fair!” she protested.

“Oh, I didn't say it was fair. I said I could drink it without touching the hat.”

“I'm only mildly impressed,” Veronica said lying badly.

“This is all small-time,” the lofty deck-of-cards guy said.

“Oh? You guys, uh... You want something bigger? Manny, I think I saw a fifty in your wallet. Can I have it?”

“Why?”

“You're paying with hundreds, Manny. I don't think you'll miss it.”

“Just give him the fifty,” Veronica said. He went for his wallet in his back pocket.

“Hey, where's my wall—” Before Manny had time to finish the sentence, Neal brought it out from his own pocket with two fingers.

“How did you do that?”

“Always make your lifts with two fingers. That way your thumb doesn't bump up against the mark.”

“Tell me something I don't know,” Mr. Lofty said.”

“And never, never think you're the smartest guy in the room,” Neal continued, ignoring the guy. “Unless you're the smartest guy in the room.” He pinpointed Mr. Lofty with his eyes. “Oh, uh, you want to keep your place in that deck? Keep the tip of your little finger in the brief.”

“I think I know what I'm doing.”

“Want to put some money on that?” Neal held up a fifty. Time to show who’s the smartest guy in the room.

“Sure.”

“Hey. That’s my fifty,” Manny mumbled.

“Who's the mark?” Deck-of-cards wanted to know. Neal glanced over his shoulder and saw that Alex had arrived at the bar. He nodded in her direction.

“How about her?”

The guy accepted the challenge and rose without a word. Neal followed.

“Hi, I'm Eric.”

“Alex. Nice to meet you.” They shook hands.

“Alex, pick a card.” Mr. Eric Lofty spread the cards from his deck like a fan.

“This looks like fun,” she said and took a card, looking at it.

“So, put it back on top and cut it for me, would you?”

She did but Neal who knew what to look for saw her keeping the card in the palm of her hand, never taking her eyes from Eric.

“Okay, now, the card I stop at is gonna be yours,” Eric said and began to flip up one card after another in the bar. Alex exchanged a glance with Neal.

“He doesn't think it will be.”

“He's wrong,” Eric said, confident, flipping up one card after another.

“Two-hundred bucks says he's right,” Alex suggested.

“No,” Eric stopped, refusing. “I can't take your money.”

“Why not? You can't make bets with girls?” Alex took the money from her purse and placed them on the counter. Eric glanced at Neal who could not help him. Eric fumbled in his pocket and got two hundred placed besides Alex’s. Then he continued to flip cards.

“And that's your card,” he said placing a nine of cloves at the top.

“And, no, it's not.”

Eric frowned.

“Well, that was supposed to be your card.”

“Now, I guess he was right,” Alex said. “Sorry.” She took the money. When she did Oswald turned up and picked up Alex's hidden card.

“I believe this is her card, Eric. She and Caffrey played you. She's his… ‘inside man,’ if you will.”

“Nice catch,” Alex sighed, still holding on to the bills.

“Look, we weren't gonna take your money,” Neal ensured the kid.

“Yeah, right.”

“Check your pocket,” Alex suggested. He did and stared at the two hundreds he found.

“I guess the lesson here is never con a con man,” the professor said, watching Neal.

“I think we all know what the lesson is for today, don't we, Eric?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess I'm not the smartest guy in the room.” Eric returned to his friends.

“Congratulations,” Oswald said. “You humbled him. That's not easy to do.” His eyes turned to Alex. “I'm Professor George Oswald.”

“Alex Hunter,” Neal said at once and got a baffled glance from Alex.

“Hi.”

“What do you do besides card tricks?”

“She's in the moving business.”

Both sent them glances.

“Ah. Well, nice to meet you. If you want to join us for a drink, the next round is on Eric.”

The professor left them and Alex glared at Neal, rose, and marched out. He hurried after her, catching up on her on the street.

“Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey,” he stopped her. “Thank you for backing me up in there.”

“Mozzie tells me to come to the bar because you have a plan and now I'm out two hundred bucks and you're dropping my name.”

“Do you trust me?”

“No.” But after a look at him, she sighed. “Okay, I assume we're doing more than baiting frat boys with bar tricks. What's with the dead poets' society in there?”

Neal saw the professor keeping an eye at them through the window.

“You know, it's my current case and the solution to your problem.”

“Russell wants to meet on Sunday to fence the rest of the Krugerrands, but it's a setup,” Alex told him. “He's gonna sell me out to whoever put the price on my head, and your plan is to bring the feds into it?”

“I tell the FBI that Oswald and his kids are gonna steal the Krugerrands. They'll pull Russell in and talk to him. It will kill his reputation. No one will be buying information off him if they think he's in bed with the bureau.”

“You're crazy.”

“It'll work.”

“You're crazy,” she repeated.

“Are you in or are you out?”

She watched the kids and the professor through the window. Then looked at him.

“I'm in.”

  
  


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	23. Stealing Krugerrands

Peter watched Neal moving around in the conference room. He could tell the kid was upset. He exchanged a look with Diana and Jones, both waiting to hear what happened the night before. Though Neal had had an Eagle, he had not recorded anything. Though Peter wanted to catch them all, he had no intention to ruin the kids' lives. There were no need to give the court more than needed.

"So, last night at the Globe?" Peter asked.

"The kids do the legwork," Neal said. "Oswald fences the goods and kicks them back a share of the profit. If the kids get caught..."

"Oswald can sell them out," he nodded in return. He could see why the kid was upset.

"Yeah, he'll say he was teaching a class, and they took it too far."

"He's more slippery than you are," Diana smiled at Neal.

"Thank you."

Diana was right. Neal was a con-man, but he would not put kids in trouble.

"Do you think you can get him to reveal the painting?" Peter wanted to know.

"I don't know," the kid admitted. "They spent the night talking about the next best heist."

"Which way are they leaning?"

"Everything from diamond heists to stealing boats," he answered. Peter sighed. "But I think we can choose for them."

"How so?" Jones asked and Neal finally sat down. He even glanced over his shoulder, as if to check that nobody else was listening.

"I happen to know a petty crook who's moving Krugerrands on Sunday."

"Gold Krugerrands?" Peter asked. "Of course you do." Why was he even surprised?

"His name is Russell Smith," Neal told Jones who sat with a laptop. The agent entered the name.

"Bingo," Jones said. "Racketeering, extortion, robbery." He turned the computer for them to see.

"And I don't like him." A harsh statement coming from Neal. But if the kid wanted to sell out a crook to the FBI, Peter was not the one to complain about it. "We intercept Russell with the Krugerrands," his pet convict continued, "send Jones down the street with the coins, and I get the kids to steal them from him instead."

"We can watch them," Diana nodded, "follow the case back to Oswald."

"Tell me more about this guy. How do you know him?" he asked. Caffrey was his responsibility and everything on a silver platter did not mean that they should eat it.

"He's a friend of a friend."

"Mozzie?"

Neal made that face, that vague smile and avoiding eyes. He was not going to confirm or deny.

"You can convince Oswald and the kids to go after him?" Diana asked.

"I can still be slippery," Neal grinned and leaned back in the chair. "I'll get them to convince me."

He smiled at this, as did Jones and Diana. Still, the kid was without anklet when he met them and he wanted a guy he did not like off the streets. There might very well be something going on that Neal did not tell him.

Neal sat with Oswald and the kids outside the school building at one of the tables with parasols.

“If jewels are the target,” the professor returned to Veronica’s speculation about stealing a valuable diamond, “what are the challenges of extraction and export?”

“How do we buy enough time to get the jewels out of the country,” she answered and her teacher gestured for her to continue but Eric was not listening.

“It'd be cool to pull a Blanchard...” he said. “Buy a replica the day before and replace it with the real thing.”

“We could tunnel!” Manny said as if no one tried that before.

“I'm not really big on shovels, Manny,” Neal told him. Tunnels were dirty, tiresome, and dangerous. He saw Alex approaching. Looked long enough for the group to notice his look. “Would you excuse me?”

“Everything is all set, okay?!” she said, angry as a bee and gestured on top of that in case it was not obvious. “You can't back out now!” He almost smiled.

“Okay, look, keep your voice down, okay?” He tried to move her further away but did not try that hard. “He saw me it's over.”

“You can't walk away. I already have a buyer.”

“Then get someone else to make the grab, or tell your buyer to back off.”

“So I'm out a ton of money because you made a stupid mistake and got spotted?!”

“Yes.”

“You know, thanks for nothing, Caffrey!”

“That's good, that's good,” he mumbled. “Now walk away.”

“Can I slap you?” she mumbled back. Two seconds later she did. Not using her full force thank God, but still, it was painful. On his way back to the table and the others, he hoped it would not become a bruise he would have to explain to Peter.

“I bet that hurt,” he heard Manny mumble to the others.

“Sorry about that,” Neal said, taking his seat. “That's a little awkward.”

“Lovers' quarrel?” Oswald asked.

“We have a history. You know, we just... we don't work well together.” That was the truth alright, even if he did not want to admit it.

“Sounded like a certain… ‘job’ went awry,” the Professor pried.

“I'm reformed, remember?” he assured him.

“Yes, of course,” Oswald smiled. “All right, listen, um... I have a class to teach. So, why don't you keep brainstorming, and, uh... Remember, in this theoretical discussion, there's no better teacher than this man here.” The professor patted Neal on the shoulder on his way passed them. “All right? See you all later.”

“You know, you can tell us,” Veronica said, leaning closer. “What's your history? Former girlfriend?”

“Something like that.”

“Sounds like she has got a job for you,” Eric joined, “but you went and got spotted by the target.”

“Oh, you heard all that from over here?” The kid grinned in reply. “Well, she can be a little loud. No, look, guys, it's just a melon drop, okay? I'd tell you, but you'd say it was small-time.”

“Well, what's the take?” Veronica wanted to know.

“Krugerrands.” That got their attention alright. “Gold.”

He sighed. He had just lured three teenagers to steal, knowing they would be caught. Was he any better than Oswald? 

“You're sure the kids will be there?” Peter asked the kid, standing by a book stand on the sidewalk along Central Park.

“Yeah, they'll be here,” Neal answered and seemed genuinely interested in the book he was browsing. “They think this is gonna be the easiest score they've ever pulled.”

Peter was too disturbed by the whole thing to even open whatever book he had picked from the bin. 

“Oswald better show.” If not, he had to arrest three more kids and nothing would keep any of them out of prison.

“He will. The kids get me the Krugerrands, I drop them in the locker, and Oswald delivers them to his fence.”

“Just like that?” 

“Just like that,” the con-man assured him. Peter was skeptical. Though he knew Neal would keep the kids out of prison, he also knew that Neal was not the first to think of consequences.

“Russell is headed your way,” Jones informed him in his earpiece.

“Our courier has arrived,” he told the kid and walked down the sidewalk to meet Russell. Peter saw Jones following the man, who carried a thin briefcase. He stopped right in front of their crook.

“Russell Smith? FBI.”

The crook stared at him, taken aback.

“That's... I-I-I didn't do anything.”

“I need you to come with me.” Peter took him by the arm and led him towards their van, passing Neal at the book stand. Russell glared at the kid, knowing who sold him out somehow. Especially since Neal followed them inside the van.

Once inside, Peter took the briefcase and Jones placed a pair of cuffs on Russell.

“Am I under arrest?” he asked.

“You are,” Peter confirmed.

“Under what charges?”

Peter opened the briefcase and exposed ten rows with at least a hundred coins in each.

“Krugerrands. Where'd you get these?”

“They fell off a truck. I want to talk to my lawyer.”

“Of course. What honest man doesn't?” Peter nodded to the agent to take him away. He closed the briefcase and handed it to Jones. “You ready for this?”

“Born ready,” he grinned and left the van.

They watched the screens showing the sidewalk where they picked up the crook.

“There’s Eric,” the kid pointed at a young man with a grocery bag in his arms. When Jones walked close, Eric turned and rammed Jones with it. They watched the argument where Jones puts down the briefcase to help pick things up. “Time for me to leave” Peter nodded, focused on the soap playing. Veronica joined the argument.

“Here comes Manny,” Diana said. Peter saw another young man in heavy sun-glasses so dark that they could hardly let any light in. He carried an identical briefcase, placed it beside Jones’ and took the other. If it had not been Jones’ intentions the kid would never get away with it. It was so obvious and clumsy that an experienced man as Caffrey or Russell Smith would not have been fooled.

Jones ended the argument, took his briefcase, and walked along.

“Yeah, Jones deserves an Oscar.”

Peter turned his attention to the other screen which Diana was already monitoring.

“Manny's approaching the drop,” she told him and Peter saw the guy stop by a stand and placing his briefcase down on the ground behind him. Neal passed him, placing a bag without bottom over the briefcase and picking it up inside it in one move, without slowing his pace.

“Smooth,” Peter smiled. “I'm glad he's on our side.” He pressed the button on his com-radio. “Caffrey is headed toward the lockers.”

They picked up images from their third camera, showing a row of lockers inside the Professor’s school. Neal walked into the frame.

“How's it going?” Jones asked, coming inside the can.

“So far, so good,” Diana said. “You're a convincing mark.”

“Well, wait till they find out what I do for a living,” Jones smiled.

They watched Neal take out the briefcase from inside the bag, place it inside the locker, close it, and leave.

“Should we take the kids in?” Jones asked.

“Not yet. I don't want to spook Oswald,” Peter answered. “We wait.”

He watched the screen showing the lockers. Sooner or later the briefcase would be picked up.


	24. Messing with the mob

Neal opened the locker, took the cover of the briefcase, and placed it inside. Then locked and left. He took a detour, taking a coffee watching the view from the table, checking if he saw someone following. Then he got inside the van.

"Has he picked it up yet?"

Peter and Jones sent him a quick glance, while Diana's eyes never left the monitor.

"No, not yet," Peter said.

Neal pulled out a chair and sat down. This was far from his favorite place in the world, but he could manage. He and Peter had spent a whole day in the van at the beginning of their partnership, just to see how he reacted to confined spaces. Four people made the van crowed. He smiled when he remembered that they had been six inside the same space when Peter had set the trap for him. Four of them had had body armor too.

"Peter?"

"Yep?"

"When you arrested me the first time, why did you bring four guys in body armor with you?" The other three in the van stared at him for a second before Diana's eyes returned to the monitor again. "I mean, you must have known I was unarmed. You and Jones would've been enough."

"Yes, I was certain you were unarmed," Peter nodded, eyes back to the monitor. "But I didn't know how you would react in a tight spot. I wanted to make sure you didn't have a chance to run."

"So that's why you came just you the second time? Because you knew me better?"

"No," Peter smiled, "that was because I didn't know you were in the apartment. I just went in to see if we could get a clue to where you went next."

"You would still use an armed vanguard if you had to arrest me?"

"I haven't so far." The other two agents chuckled at this. Peter turned his head. "Are you up to something, Neal?"

"Do you think I would tell you if I were?" he grinned back at his friend. They all smiled at this and then fell back into silence. Neal found a pair of handcuffs and studied their simple but effective mechanism when he found Peter watching him.

"Would you've run?" his handler asked. "If just me and Jones walked through that door, would you still have yielded as you did?"

Neal watched the cuffs in his hands. It was not an obvious answer to that question. He had run before, but never when they were that close.

"If you had come unarmed, maybe," he thought aloud.

"So guns make a difference?"

"Of course it does, Peter. With a gun, you could kill someone without any effort at all."

"True. So you would've tried to run if I had been more low-key with the arrest?"

To tell the truth, he had not checked who came through the door before raising his hands in surrender.

"No, Peter." He saw his friend gave him that are-you-sure-you're-telling-the-truth look. "I knew it was a trap the second Kate told me she didn't sell stamps. If you had set a trap you had every escape route covered. It would just have been embarrassing to even try."

Once again this caused quite an amusement in the van. And Neal thought he saw a hint of pride in Peter's face.

"I wish more criminals were thinking the same, Caffrey," Jones said.

"Bobby said the same."

"Who?"

"Guard at the prison." Bobby had stopped cuffing him when he has taken to solitary confinement because there was never any need. Neal had proved he was not violent. But those memories reminded him too much of his current location for him to want to continue on the subject.

The van became silent again.

"You ran when you jumped out of that judge's chambers," Peter said after awhile.

"You weren't there to stop me, Peter," Neal said. "You seemed too baffled to try even try."

"I was."

Would he have stopped if Peter had made any attempts to stop him? Neal was not sure. Probably he would have, and shown the telephone conversation to him there and then instead. But it would have been more stressful less certain of the right outcome.

He continued to play with the cuffs. He found a paper clip and to Jones' amusement he bent it to a key so he could unlock them after closing.

Time passed. Jones left the van to buy them coffee.

His curiosity turned into a meditational listen to the sound of cuffs opening and closing.

Then Diana took the cuffs from his hands without taking the eyes off the screen.

"You guys should invest in some of those little Christmas-tree air fresheners," Neal told Peter.

"You don't like the van. Noted."

"Peter," Jones said, entering the van. Without coffee Neal noted, but on the phone. "Peter, can I talk to you?" Peter rose and Neal mover out of the way so he could pass to the other end of the van. "We took Russell back to the Bureau. He didn't call his lawyer."

"Who'd he call?"

Jones put the phone back to his ear.

"Play it," he said and then handed the phone to Peter who listened. Neal was curious but he did not want it to show.

"Neal," Peter said. "Neal."

"What?" he looked at Peter. "I didn't do anything."

"Explain this," he said and then into the phone: "Play it." He put it on speaker.

"I'm not working with the FBI! They got me with the case. What was I supposed to do? Tell 'em I can still get 'em Alex Hunter, but they got to post bail!"

"Why is Russell talking about Alex Hunter?" his handler wanted to know and he sounded angry.

"Do you know who he's talking to?" Neal asked.

"Went to a burner phone," Jones told him.

"Answer my question!"

"Alex is in trouble."

"Alex is back? Damn it, Neal. I can't let my guard down for one day, can I?" Peter was upset, and Neal was not quite sure why. He had done nothing wrong. "You used us to take Russell out of play. If you jeopardized this case-"

"I didn't, Peter." He had put his job first. He had just used the situation to help a friend as well.

"Diana?"

"It's 8:00. I don't think Oswald's gonna show."

"Yeah, I guess he conned all of us." Peter threw the phone on the table. Neal blinked. Was Oswald conning them? Conning him?

"Check the locker," he said.

"Why?" Peter asked.

"Check it."

He walked ahead and the others followed. They walked inside the school, down the corridor Neal walked hours before. Jones found the locker. Peter stood with his hands on his hips while Jones opened it.

"The case isn't here," the young agent said.

"Damn it!" Peter spat. "Did we ever lose visual on the locker?" he asked Diana.

"No."

"Then how'd he get the bag?!"

Neal examined the locker. Just some clothes hung there. No briefcase on the floor where he left it. He walked closer, sat on his heels, and examined the back.

Then he found the seam and pulled it away from the false lower part of the locker. Behind was a hole in the wall. He could see mops and buckets on the other side.

"He was here the entire time," he said. Oswald had conned him. Never think you're the smartest guy in the room.

"Oh man," Peter breathed. "So help me, if this was part of your plan..."

"It wasn't. Oswald improved my con."

"Then you better figure out how to catch him."

“He was here the entire time,” the kid said, staring into the locker. Peter sighed. If the plan they had followed was not made up by a con-man it might have been just bad. Now te whole operation was about to be questioned.

“So help me, if this was part of your plan...”

“It wasn't,” Neal said at once and Peter believed him. “Oswald improved my con.” It is much more fun to con a famous con-man. It made sense and none of them had seen it coming.

“Then you better figure out how to catch him,” he told his pet convict. “No, I take that back. _We_ must figure it out. Because your actions are my damn responsibility! You get hold of Alex and tell her to home to your place. I’ll get back to the office for the paperwork. When I’m done I’ll come home to you and Alex better be there.”

“Peter…”

“I’m not going to arrest her. Not then and there at least. Just hear her story.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” the kid nodded and left.

Jones and Diana watched him.

“Boss? I don’t think Neal did this,” Diana said.

Jones nodded.

“Neither do I.”

“Oh, why not?” He agreed but he wanted to hear their reasons.

“Because of the kids,” Jones said at once. “If he worked with Oswald on this, the kids go down.”

“I agree,” Diana nodded. “And as far as we know… Neal doesn’t work with random crooks. It’s not like him to make a deal with a guy like Oswald.”

Peter nodded.

“I don’t think he did it either. But he pulled his own agenda to it, and I don’t like that.”

They returned to the office. Peter started with the paperwork.

“Boss?” Diana stood in the door. “I can do that for you. Go to Caffrey’s place and sort it out.”

“Sure?” She nodded in reply. “Thanks, Diana.” 

He drove to June’s house, jogged up the stairs, and knocked with authority.

Neal opened.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Peter said and walked inside, looking for Alex and found the short guy instead. “Oh, why is he here? I asked for Alex.”

“Understandably, my client does not trust the FBI,” Mozzie replied. “She has asked her lawyer to preside in her absence.”

First, he becomes Neal’s lawyer, and now Alex’s?

“Got a nice little practice going?”

“I do all right,” the short guy said and took a sip of his wine.

“Helps when you're friends with criminals,” Peter returned. “Thanks to you two, I got a pound of shrapnel in my ass from today's misfire. Tell me why you really put us onto Russell. And it better be good.”

The kid exchanged a look with the short guy and then said:

“Someone's looking for Alex. Russell said he could deliver her, and we took him out of play before he could.” And he said it like he believed he was a knight in shiny armor. In a way the kid was, protecting his friends, but not with FBI resources.

“Who's looking for her?”

“Probably the same people who killed Kate,” Neal replied. Now, how was that even possible? “If Oswald has the coins, he'll try and fence them eventually.”

“That's what I'm counting on. And you're gonna help make that happen. We're gonna make Oswald reveal the Krugerrands and the painting.”

“Well... How?” Mozzie asked.

“Those coins belonged to someone who probably wants them back, right?”

The short guy made something of a nod.

“Tell me who.”

The two criminals exchange a look again.

“Uh... Russell may, or... or may not be, an old connection from Detroit...” Mozzie said. Peter waited for more and Neal encouraged him to continue. “...Of the Don Corleone persuasion.”

“The Detroit mob?” Peter asked, baffled. 

“Yeah,” the kid nodded.

This would be a little more complicated than he had figured it would be.

“All right, I'm gonna have to convince Oswald I'm in with them.”

“What if he recognizes you?” Neal asked.

“He won't. Unlike you, the Bureau makes sure that my picture doesn't get in the paper. He knows you,” he said and pointed at the kid. “You...” he turned to Mozzie, “I don't trust. So...”

“Impossible,” the short fellow objected. “He studies crime for a living. You'd need an expert on the Detroit mob to pull that o... Oh.”

Mozzie realized what he just said and Peter grinned. 

“I just found my expert.”

Neal’s friend had not much to say about it. He had cared enough to argue that Peter should not do it, and that he knew the mob. Peter did not trust this guy by far much as he trusted Neal, but he trusted him enough to think that he would not deliberately put him in danger.

The next afternoon Neal sat in the van with Mozzie and Jones. He wished Peter had agreed to wear a body-cam so they could see something and not just hear it.

“Hello?” they heard Oswald’s voice. “Can I help you?”

“You took something of mine,” Peter said.

“Is that so?”

“Tell him you're the peacemaker,” Mozzie said. Peter did not. “That's an old Detroit player. Do it.”

“I'm the peacemaker,” Peter said.

“Well, I don't recall starting any wars,” Oswald answered with a slight laugh. “I'm sure, uh... This is a misunderstanding.”

“You stole my Krugerrands, and I want them back.”

“K-k-Kru... Kru... Listen, I don't have time for jokes.”

“Okay,” Peter replied and they heard the click of a gun getting ready.

“When it's a matter of our missing money,” Moz dictated, “I never joke.”

“I never joke,” Peter told Oswald and sounded very convincing. It would have been nice to have Peter on the team as a con-man.

“This picture tells a story, Professor,” Peter said and Neal knew he showed him a photo projected on the wall from the theft of Krugerrands.

“I don't see myself in that story.”

“No, but you see the case. And now you've got it.”

“Tell him you'll cut off his hands if he doesn't pay up,” Mozzie instructed Peter.

“What?” Jones protested.

“It's the Detroit mob, not the girl scouts.”

“I wouldn't want anything to happen to your hands, Professor,” Peter said instead.

“I said cut off his hands!”

“Quiet, Moz,” Neal told him. Peter was doing just fine.

“All right, listen, listen,” Oswald said and sounded nervous, “if you're the peacemaker, I'm sure we can find some common ground.”

“The Krugerrands were worth two million. I want three million for my trouble.” 

“Well, well, that's simply not possible.”

“Make it possible. Deliver it tomorrow.”

“Or I'll start with your thumbs,” Mozzie said grinning, and to his great joy, Peter repeated.

“Or I'll start with your thumbs.”

Professor Oswald had nothing more to say to that.

Peter had not had time to get back to the van before Neal’s phone rang. It was Oswald, asking if Neal could arrange a meeting with that pretty fence of his tomorrow.


	25. The missing piece

"Will Alex do it?" Peter asked and the kid nodded.

"She will. Because I promised her that I'll get rid of Russell."

"That's not actually up to you to promise that," Peter pointed out.

"I didn't promise that you would do it," Neal grinned. "But if you want to tell the world that Russell aided the FBI, you make my life a lot easier."

Peter looked at this pet convict and smiled. He could do that.

"Alright, I will. Just to keep you from doing something stupid."

"Peter…"

"Yep?"

"Alex doesn't trust the FBI."

"I know."

"Would it not make your life easier if she had someone within the Bureau she at least could have some faith in?"

"You?"

"No, you. You've got a pretty good chance to make a new friend, of sorts."

Peter considered.

"Hypothetically, what would I have to do?"

"Help her out of the country."

Neal was right, it would make his life easier if Alex did not totally oppose the FBI. Maybe his young convict would not feel the same need to slip out of the territory to meet her, if she could tolerate his situation. And he liked the idea of her out of the country.

"Where would she like to go?" he asked.

Peter watched the agent by the window of the diner. The agent was monitoring Oswald and Alex Hunter making a deal at the back of the room. Finally, she made a circle with her hand and he, Jones, and three agents in windbreakers marched across the street and into the diner.

They caught the couple right in a handshake.

"FBI! Don't move!" Jones yelled, gun drawn. Peter had a feeling that his fellow agent loved to burst inside, getting everyone's attention. "Hands on the table! Hands on the table!"

They both obeyed. Alex glanced towards the door as if she considered running. Or looking for Neal.

"George Oswald," Jones said, holstering his gun. "You're under arrest."

Oswald saw Peter behind Jones. When Jones pulled at his arm to get him to his feet he made no resistance.

"Nooo," he said, stunned to recognize Peter's face. "Nooo."

"Good to see you again, Professor." Peter felt good to outsmart the man who conned Neal. Jones cuffed Oswald. "Careful with his hands."

"I want to see my lawyer," the Professor said.

"Come on, get moving." They walked out and left him and an agent with Alex, who rose.

"Thank you, Miss Hunter," Peter said and picked up the briefcase with the coins.

"And I believe you've been looking for this," she said with a sigh and handed over a roll, which was likely the stolen painting. Peter put it under his arm, thinking too late that it was a painting worth six zeros.

"Per Neal's suggestion," he said and brought out an airline ticket folder from his inner pocket, "we've booked you on a secure flight to Italy. And we made sure we publicly thanked Russell for his thoughtful and continued cooperation with the FBI."

Alex held the folder, frowning at first, then she smiled, a genuinely happy smile.

"Neal said you were the best."

She took a step forward and to Peter's utter surprise she placed a small kiss on his cheek. Then she took her bag and left. Peter smiled too. Not only because she was leaving the country. He glanced at the painting. Lucky him, the kid had not been there and seen his disrespectful handling of the canvas.

Next, he and Jones drove to the school and met up with Neal. He walked into the full classroom with a bunch of papers in his hand.

"Hello, everyone. Your Professor, George Oswald, will not be joining you today. Instead, I'm here as a recruiter…" he glanced at Lenny, Veronica, and Eric, "for the FBI. Hi, I'm Special Agent Peter Burke. And these…" he gestured towards the door where Jones walked in with a bunch of agents on his heels, Neal last, "are some of my colleagues." Now the kids from the team understood what was going on. "They studied criminology just like you, and now they get to catch bad guys for a living."

Jones pinpointed Lenny.

"FBI. You're under arrest."

"Guys, s-stay calm," Eric said as a cuff closed around his wrist.

"Professor Oswald! He made us do it!" Lenny objected as Jones tried to pull him to his feet.

"Good job, Manny!" Veronica said, cuffed. "Way to stay calm!"

Lenny's protests did not end there. Peter heard them all the way out to the corridor. When the commotion settled and lawful citizens of the class remained, Peter smiled.

"If you think it's fun reading about these guys, wait until you experience the feeling of catching them." It was not the kids he had been thinking of. That was just a necessary part of the job.

"Wow," Neal said, maybe feeling Peter's mood. "For the record, I still maintain that I basically turned myself in."

Baffled, Peter stared at his pet convict.

"The full weight of the FBI was bearing down on you." Neal made a face but did not argue. "I wear a badge. He wears a tracking anklet. Applications are on the table." He dropped the pile of papers on the table and hoped he at least made an impression keeping the youths in the class on the straight and narrow. He left the classroom and students whispering among each other.

"Why did you tell them you turned yourself in?" he asked the kid, who shrugged.

"It would've been better for them if they did."

"And you looked less stupid being outsmarted," Peter smirked.

"There is a stroke of vanity in us all," the kid smiled back.

Outside he and the kid listened to Veronica, Eric, and Lenny, giving Jones and the other agents a hard time jabbering.

"You think we don't know how this works? We know how this works!"

"Shut your mouth!"

"There's a lot of information that we have for you."

"Manny, shut the hell up!"

"D.A.'s dream," Peter mused. "Tripping over themselves to cut a deal. They're young. We'll probably give it to them."

"Look at us," Neal said and Peter glanced at him, not getting it. "Saving America's youth from a life of crime."

"Ah, we're a regular after-school special." Peter's phone rang he looked at the display. "One second." He moved a few paces and answered. "Diana..."

"Boss, you have some time? I have something to show you."

"Where?"

"At my apartment."

"Alright, I'll be there."

Peter had said Neal could go home early after the phone call from Diana. He had a gut feeling it was about Kate’s killer but he had too little fact to press Peter on the information. He walked to the hotel he was pretty sure Alex used and caught her filling a cab with her luggage.

“Leaving so soon?”

“Venice is calling,” she answered. The cab driver was about to place a flat wooden crate in the trunk. “Oh, you know what? I'm gonna actually keep that up here with me.”

“Okay, sure,” the cabdriver compiled and placed in the back seat. Neal held the door open for a type of crate he was familiar with.

“You know, it's interesting. They searched Oswald's house and found several of the things he was suspected of stealing. Jewelry, Egyptian artifacts. But there was a Matisse…”

“Matisse? Hmm…”

“It was rumored Oswald had it, but it wasn't at his house.”

“That's a shame. It'd be worth a fortune.”

“Yes, it would. It's about the size of your box there.” He nodded towards the crate in the backseat and Alex did not entirely manage to keep her poker face.

“I'll keep an eye out. I could use the reward money.”

“I'm sure you could.”

They looked at each other and Alex laughed. 

“Goodbye, Neal.”

“Alex.” She was about to step into the cab but paused. “Be careful.”

“You too. If someone's looking for me…”

“They're coming after me, too,” Neal filled in.

Alex dug in her purse and held up the little golden cherub.

“That's the last piece of the music box,” she said and placed it in his hand, closing his fingers around it. “I'm giving up my obsession.”

“You're suggesting I give up mine?”

“Kate's gone. The rest of us are still here.”

She looked into his eyes with hopes. Then she leaned forward and kissed him on the mouth. She watched him, waiting for a reaction. He wished he could give something back to her, but it was too early. And maybe they had too much history for it to ever be the right time again.

“Goodbye, Alex.”

She entered her cab and left.

When Peter came in, Diana placed the amber music box on the table. So she had it in her home. That was information he did not really want but it was nothing to do about it.

“At first I thought one of the cherubs was broken off. But take a look,” she said and handed him a little flashlight.

He shone on a hole at a corner, where there were cherubs at the other three.

“Narrow tunnel with a slight ridge. There's something there,” he turned off the flashlight and sat down by the table. He turned the music box towards him and opened it. It’s mechanics played a sweet tune. They listened to it together. When it was done, he closed the lid.

“Whatever this thing's hiding,” Diana said, “it's not the music.”

“I think it's a keyhole,” Peter said, shining at the hole.

“A key to what?” He had no idea. “Could we get it into X-ray?”

“Not without alerting somebody. I don't want to take a hammer to it just yet.”

“It could self-destruct.” Peter smiled at this.

“Wouldn't surprise me. Let's see if we can find that missing piece. Maybe our friend, the patchwork man, knows where it is.”

_This is the last chapter of part 6. As usual, there will be a break before I continue with part 7. For those following on Patreon you’ll still get a weekly posting though. Thank you for reading._


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